I am my father’s daughter

Jane Dougherty Writes

Just for you, Punam, I tried. (for dverse)

I am my father’s daughter

so don’t touch me while I am sleeping,
don’t watch me while I am eating,
and never comment on what I am creating.

I make music from words and colour them
with found pieces of sky,
the lost buttons of cloud coats,
the sizzling sanctity of stars ,
the dripping juice of peaches.

In my dreams I make mountains of molehills,
climb to cloud cuckoo land,
weave wonderlands of speedwell
sew sequins in their tails,
so let me sleep,

and perhaps if you keep still and silent,
I will paint you the broad sea
and windswept cliffs, gorse-coloured
and scented with skylarks
and the wild songs of seals,
where I think my father walks.

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