She was born,
that little squirt,
unaccustomed to
the concept of being alive,
little starfish fingers tenderly
opening
and closing
and
- opening again.
She grew up,
a toddler, knowing
nothing and seeing
everything.
Daddy, delighted by her
wide-eyed sense of wonderment.
Genius, he calls it.
Momma's protruding belly,
made nearly hidden
by layers of frilly
tight beige underwear,
entrances her,
tickles her
impressionable childish senses
Pink.
Then, she grew up.
A little too much,
and the words
arrived, inevitably, as
they always
would.
Those words.
'Daddy,
what is sex? '
Those terrible,
terrible words.
Momma stares,
wide-eyed, expressing
her horrification
at baby's
loss of innocence.
Daddy's hair is
turning gray,
a delightful tribute
to his darling
little girl,
standing tall
at 3 feet 8 inches
in ruffled pigtails,
awaiting her
answer.
Ballerina With Fins
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/daddy-s-little-girl-2/
