I have noticed, regardless of intent,
not much seems new
My daughter, twenty one months,
delights daily, nay hourly
Its a station nowhere. A pre-midlife mellow
wearing halcyon shields of security's illusions.
My setting foundations a little weathered,
I view youthful indiscretions
with just a peak over Conspirators Hill.
I suffer helpless desk attendants
with no power no responsibility no initiative.
I love it when Bryanna (twenty one of months)
visits upon me her unaffected affections
when Bradin (thirteen of weeks) of throaty laughs
peals away my hard found ernsthaftness.
A heart shaped felt and fluorescent feathered card
guided glued and gifted by mother and daughter
A chocolate muffin with a Pooh candle
The first ever blown out by Bryanna
A handclapped chorus of happy birthday
Multum in parvo
(comment on this poem)