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For my daughter


Paulby Paul E Smith21 Dec 2013

Beneath a cloud of dust
on hands and knees with a damp cloth,
I'm rubbing stars into galaxies
against the hearthrug's blackness,
cursing my daughter's long red hair
and children's mess.

But brushing her mane after bathing,
a halo of copper thread,
I see how sunlight fills a room
as she walks through the door
and find it easy to forgive
a few stray sunbeams
on a black-rugged floor.