autumn child

Two poems for my daughter:

I
My autumn child,
with the sky
in her eyes –
her gold hair flies
as she dances past,
with long-limbed grace,
she trails laughter
in her wake.

She dances past me.
And on, away.

II

My goblin child,
with monkey feet,
climbs the walls
to spiders greet.

She runs about,
with loud nee-naws
then drops on the couch
with great guffaws.

She roars and squeals,
yowls and squawks,
and leaves a mess
where e‘er she walks.

Mouth open wide,
like a split-top head,
her massive yawn,
means time for bed.

Through her room,
that obstacle course,
she jumps into bed
with excessive force.

At last some peace,
just gentle snores,
her Diney toy
in her filthy paws.

I close the door
and tiptoe away,
and pray to god,
asleep she’ll stay.

______________________________

I often suspect my daughter is a changeling, but left by the elves or the goblins?