Father to Daughter

Father to Daughter

What ought I say, to my little girl in braids?
If I had a son, I’d tell ‘em life’s a race that needs run—
Tell ‘em to learn to use a knife, a wrench, and a gun.
Tell ‘em our lot is one of virtue, measured in service—
Tell ‘em to provide, to protect, and to lead with purpose.
But what ought I say, to my little girl in braids?

I suppose I should say much the same—
Life’s a race, and the runners don’t run fair—
So best be prepared by coverin’ your heart and hair in prayer.
Be pretty and be kind—don’t be nice nor afraid of service.
Your lot is virtue likewise, but measured in wise obedience—
So much more I ought to say, my little girl in braids…

When ya become a woman and take out your braids, remember:
You got fight in ya, Las, so don’t let it be misplaced.
You got opinions, wee one, never let ‘em suffocate grace.
You got beauty while ya got it, darlin’, never misuse it to manipulate.
Be truthful and be honest, don’t use your wiles to obfuscate.
Humor me, darlin’, while you’re still my little girl in braids.

It won’t be too long before I’m dead and gone—
Buried at the monastery with perspective saints, in hallowed ground.
You’ll still have this poem, and, hopefully good memories hangin’ ‘round.
If there’s only one take away, and every other word dissolves some day,
Never, not even for a moment, forget to pray,
Like we do each night when I tuck you in, my little girl in braids.

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