who gave you permission to grow
from a small child with ponytails
to a young woman
self-assured
with a sober head on her shoulders?

so many years in-between, dear.
so many experiences left swallowed in the past.

such as
first days of school,
first teeth lost,
reading and writing and math.
intelligent girl,
you probably charmed your peers
the first moment they saw you smile.

tests and papers,
graduation ceremonies with tasseled hats
and gowns and the future
an open book.
a well to tap.
a world to conquer set before you.

i still see the little girl inside my mind.

she liked to chase rays of sun
and stop to smell each flower she came upon.
she pressed her cheek against mine
saying, "daddy, i love you."
i bleed life
whenever i hear that small voice speak.

yet seeing you now
gives me hope for today and tomorrow.
yesterdays have passed like wind,
shifting sand dunes across the desert,
yet the here and now lingers
with the miracle of the moment.
that little girl's heart, now grown,
still has room for the one who first
chased shadows away from her bedroom
and stood guard over her,
the most precious jewel he possessed.

young woman,
who gave you permission
to wear the stars in your hair?
and what will i do when a suitor
comes along to capture the moonlight
sealing it inside a bottle
to present it to you?