To my young daughter:

Notice the hydrangea,

both blue and purple.

Blue and purple

are the mealy veins

that line the bulb

of a nose

on that codger

who told you today

that you are not pretty.

Honey, he cannot see

beyond his small

square of green lawn.

You of the tender cheeks.

You of the soprano that rises

out the window as you play

your own piano songs.

 

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