for Clara, my daughter, my heart, my song


She didn't invite me,
my soul was there, though.
I was told she sang her song,
brave, beautiful,
young, and yet, strong.

I was told, that
the audience,
she faced, fearless.
A tight and short skirt,
over endless legs,
over ivory shoulders,
flew her fair hair.

Next concert, wether,
invited or not,
I shall see her by myself
I won't need to be told,
how my awsome daughter,
flies within a song.

La Finita

Laa Finita

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-was-told-3/