'I want to be perfect, daddy'
He looked at her, smiling
She was standing there
With her father's eyes
And a look of grit
That she got from him

Could she be perfect?
Could anyone?
He had always thought no
Perfection, so unattainable
Because with the rose,
Comes the thorn

But there she was
Undeterred.
Intrepid.
Unflinching.

His heart did the thinking for him.
'You already are, my angel'