A Portrait Of My Daughter
I held the fresh, clean canvas…
unblemished, incomplete…
Miraculous potential…
untouched as yet and sweet.
My mind caressed a vision…
my heart joined in the game…
I beheld a flawless portrait…
within a perfect frame.
But time revealed some brush strokes…
I felt were out of place…
And lines I did not want there…
foolish pride lacking grace…
And then I met the Artist…
His skillful plan yet to unfold…
A portrait of my daughter…
On canvas He now holds….
Her tender spirit His to paint…
design and color like none other…
Not expecting me The Artist be…
…but to love her as her mother.
By Sharain Clark ~1995
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