Wild, curly brown hair
Big ol' brown doe eyes
Her father's sweetness
And her mother's sass

She might be a painter
Or a writer
Or a nerd
Or even an athlete

She'd be half dreamer
Half thinker
All-knowing
And all-loving

Her name would roll off tongues
Wrapped in affectionate sighs
And stern instructions
And resounding respect

Creating her with you
That magic power God saw fit to give
We're trash, but
She might not be

We would raise her
On spicy food
And kisses on temples
And lullabies

She'd speak your language
With my conviction
Killin' 'em
On multiple continents

Our little girl
Would be you
And me
On fire