We had nothing for our daughter

when she turned the big four

but the second hand old jersey

that she left upon the floor.

She danced around the table

with a smile that lit the room

That’s when we realised

life was not despair or gloom.

We dug a mould of clay and dirt

in which she liked to play

then giggled as we all pretended

to enjoy our cake of clay.

Years have gone and children grow

of that we all conclude

but remembering the cake of mud

is our joy of interlude.

Pashi’s Daughter

One thought on “Pashi

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s