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She looked so sweet when she was born,
An angel in disguise,
You walk the floors, your shoes are worn,
You can't believe her lies.
She knows just how to play you now,
She knows what face to pull,
But you've grown tired of her ways now,
Dad is no more the fool.
You do the best you can by her,
But all she sees is spite,
Your actions prove your love for her,
But she can't see the light.
So where's the thanks we get from them,
When they are grown and gone?,
No compensation here my friend,
Trust me, you're on your own!
(a poem for someone special who's having a hard time with his daughter, we all know how THAT one goes eh?)
Neva Flores Varga Smith
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