"Express yourself," they said. So I wrote a poem.

 I am.

The golden-haired child

who dances on her father’s feet,

barefoot, foot-loose and free,

abandoned to her wild joy.

The girl who climbs trees

to see what the world looks like,

who runs in the wind and rain

just to feel she is alive again.

The teenager who is held captive

by her mind and its invention,

who rides to freedom on a horse

whom she loves more than life.

The young woman who loves

but doesn’t know the direction

or the object, only the passion

for something more than this.

The adult, given great freedom

and so also great responsibility,

who loves to read, write, think,

and comes to college to learn how.

The daughter who is grown up,

but will always be Daddy’s girl

and, in her mind, heart and soul,

will always have a Father.

I am His.