Her utter candor, so charming
gently breaks my heart this time
when I ask "did you miss me, darling?",
and she whispers into her dress
"I don't know", an unexpected line
so lightly said, I can't but press
on to ask her, furrowing my brow
"what do you mean you don't know?"
She sneezes, and as I say "God bless",
she starts to explain on the go
"First two days I didn't miss you,
then thought of you for the next two,
the last two days, I again forgot you,
today, mummy said you would be coming
so this noon again I began thinking
about the toys you would be bringing".
Flummoxed, I want to burst out laughing
but catch my wife's eye flash a warning
hush, your daughter has the right to hurt
but you better not make her cry now;
I just throw my little source of mirth
up into the air and shower her with love,
for truth is, in her disarming honesty
lie God's ways to ease a father's worry.