Father has grown old.
Grey hair, like silver.
And on eyes are,
the gold-rimmed glasses.
Brooding, sitting in a corner
or perhaps drowsing,
with head tilted to one side.
Fingers moving lightly
with each breath,
lips matching the rhythm.
My daughter runs to him
and his eyes light up.
A big smile lights up
the face as well.
In my daughter
I see myself,
sitting in his lap.
I feel born again
being blessed with,
a second lease of life.
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