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Jul 2019
She had never said it first,
and it is doubtful she ever will.

Maybe it was the first disappointment...
She danced with her Dad,
a four year old toe head
standing on top of his feet,
hanging on for dear life!
A simple, child's mind
could never comprehend
why little aΒ Β girl
could not marry her Daddy.

Maybe it was The First.
He never said it,
neither did she.
They were never in love,
nor did they pretend to be.

Maybe it was The Taker,
The Worker, or The Money Maker,
on a cold Christmas
or a snowy New Year's Eve.
Maybe it was pieces,
parts of all of these.

Each one who came,
soon went,
another brick in her
tower of solitude.
A fortress built,
no man could penetrate.

You could have her,
But you could never
have her.
You could take her out
for seafood and wine,
and hold her hair back
when she puked.
You could take her to a Cubs game,
hot dogs, beer, and Harry Caray
in the seventh inning stretch...
But still, you could never
have her.
In the morning,
you, or you, or you
had to go.
You, or you, or you
could never get too close.

All the while
she was waiting,
watching and waiting...
Riding time,
longing for, and craving
the one toΒ Β bring the fire,
the one who could wrap
her in his flame.
Mr. Mike Griffith once told me this was a good poem.  It has been a year since I have posted anything... I hope this helps get my words moving again.
Written by
bex  just north of ordinary
(just north of ordinary)   
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