Daddy held me in his arms
Once, when I was five;
He wasn't one to embrace,
To clap and say well-done.

To hear him speak two words
Was volumes from someone
Who tsked and rolled,
But never scolded
His daughters and his sons.

In his hold, so foreign,
He made his assumption,
That I was content to be held,
Though squirming for the ground.

For me it wasn't soothing,
He never was inviting,
His demeanor so discomforting,
He never did it again;
Not that I could tell;
And yet the security
Never diminished
From arms that once held me.