Butterfly swirls

My daughter is in the third before the arrival of snow as I lit a candle standing on the edge of the trees cold wind singing my daughter to thank your mother let us meet even though flowers are also hiding in the deepening twilight day for you tree Sam’s womb I was sleeping my daughter go through the drizzle waiting your teeth is the same as my Pearl Yeah holding baby clothes spring tap the doors of my father is my daughter, you drop a pen in tears of happiness fall into a dense poem on the manuscript will be able to grow my daughter snow and cold has long been me in the door I let the birds be with you to find the pure blue sky and you have to let the fish take you chase my daughter jumping brook three hundred sixty-five morning I prayed silently and combing your hair soft of my daughter no matter which one evening I have been eagerly overlooking ready for you night lamp my daughter you are the first butterfly in the spring appeared carrying honey and nectar in my father’s poetry singing whipped