My Violet

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My Violet

There she goes a fake feather boa wrapped around her head

Vivacious, vibrant, a vision in a single sumptuous hip check

Startling

Slather of fresh whipped creamery butter gliding barefoot

There she goes,  nothing manipulative about this little chicklet

Short and sassy lisping “Love you Daddy” in her Princess PJ’s

And I sit here, suddenly inarticulately, just this side of vacuous

Master of Nothing, soaking in this sumptuous four-year-old

Vision

Fresh from her bath – a fake feather boa on her head

Tip-toe dancing into forever, pulsing in, and with, and through

And magically, mystically, incomprehensibly, of my very blood

My Violet 

Stamped in forever, with a fake feather boa on her head