To my Daughter

On a Sunday afternoon
in my garden,
'neath the old apple tree,
which I planted,
my daughter and I sit,
rocking in our garden chairs,
we spin little yarns,
fresh and hopeful,
spring breeze, full of expectations,
and nature 's greening everywhere,
everything around us is so full of vigor
of blooming and growth,
my daughter's voice,
gentle, ever so gentle,
long lashes, old Semitic eyes,
warm, all-knowing,
the ancient eyes of my people
in a youthful, fresh face,
telling me,
on a Sunday afternoon
in my garden,
that all is well with the world....

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2005 Alfred Charasz