THE GARDEN

Hooped stars lie impotent on the verdant playground
Dashed in vain against the barricade of his authority
Oversized boot to crush promises dreams
For us, he hopes no escape shall ever be found

On rare occasions, his opalescent words try to persuade
Imploring his pretty flowers to remain safe in his garden
We tell him even princesses must leave their castles
So, we’ll sweep away his print, dispense with this charade

For you see, this imperfect fantasy is his and not ours
Father, we are women now, children never more
Made to blossom on ground, not hide in the clouds
Untie your laces so we can unleash our powers

Hooped stars turn to tears on the verdant playground
The barricade crumbles as he steps out of our way
Lifts his boot from our tender adult lives
Hugs us tight now escape we have found

So we bear his love close as we step off the grass
Small hands leave his, unfettered, seeking our own fantasies
Although his lawn is overgrown and the clouds dull
We visit his playground where pretty flowers adorn his headstone
Alas