ON HER FATHERS' SHOULDERS

 
ON HER FATHERS' SHOULDERS


He lifts her high at the village fair,
Above the jostle, above the glare.
Not just to see, not just to roam,
But to give her the world and call it home.

She sits like a queen on a throne of bone,
In a sea of strangers, yet not alone.
A string of balloons, a wheel that turns—
She sees it all while his shoulder burns.

Her hands in his hair, her laugh like rain,
Unaware of anything else- but the ride
To her, it’s a ride; to him, it’s grace—
To carry a heart in that small embrace.

He is her compass through the crowd,
Her shade, her map, her song aloud.
And though she looks to find what's new,
He watches her find a wider view.

Later, she’ll walk on paths unknown,
Steady on feet once gently flown.
But this moment, bright as morning stream—
A father’s joy, a daughter’s dream.


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