"Reflections"

- The Index -

and

"Reflections"

This poem is written with considerable thought,

of the joys, like a daughter, to me that you 've brought.

Your heart is broken, and I know why.

You pout a lot, but do not cry.

It's hard to be a lady fair,

when you are young with ribboned hair.

You want the things that grown ups do,

and the things of little children, too.

But, as you grow older, and learn to care,

you'll see my love - there is no stuffed bear.

April 19, 1977