Some flowers have grown,
Watch as my father’s eyes
Like fairies from the skies,
They glimpse his perfection; full blown,
Originated like earth; few seeds thrown,
Life hovers there, now, as butterflies:
Ecstasies on petals and good byes,
And his Godly muse over the beauty flown.
Father theirs, caresses bud each,
Expecting their arrival time, worried
Pours he dewy drops of smallest size,
And gentlest they sway with daughterly reach.
He ponders like the sun; they get energised,
Together even in dreamy nights, and then arise!
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