“Get me dressed, oh please mother.”
Beseeched my three-year-old daughter
“I want to look pretty and nice;
with my hair braided, maybe thrice?”

Her hair, dark brown, not black
to her waist almost, down her back.
The thought came as I worked fast,
and got her into her dress, at last.

She then, stood away and twirled
seeing herself in the mirror, frilled.
She grins at me, as I turn to say
“Now what can those toes fit in today?”

Of course, she would have an answer,
to ask, I should have known better.
For after all it is true, plain as day:
She’s my daughter, in every which way!

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