Burn The Cradle

Burn the old cradle, Daddy, I’m a big girl now
Got my license and dean’s listed too
Don’t you think I’m all grown-up?
Daddy, tell me true
Burn the old cradle, Daddy, I’m on my way
Text me later to make some plans
But I’m off with my friends
No time for pots and pans
Burn the old cradle, Daddy, you raised me right
I’m grateful for all your love sans plastic
Now it’s my turn to explore
And sail the nighttime fantastic
Burn the old cradle, Daddy, I’m out the door
You know I’ll always call
You love me more than most
I love you, Old Dad, most of all


About Kitt

Sometimes a rhyme or couplet wanders across my consciousness. So, I share it. Other times I'm a hospice social worker; others, a Dad; others, southerner, New Orleanian, cajun enthusiast, voter, and on better days, a not-too-awful-poet/rhymster. Welcome to my page. Enjoy.

Posted on December 13, 2014, in Poem and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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