I wrote a poem

Out of words I gave birth to meaning.
As a co parent with a syllable, we named our offspring utter, first word she mimicked was phonic not mother.

Had a lot in the mind and her mouthful.

Read between the lines, poetic, yet scornful...
We're so proud she did what the latter failed to.
Sprout seed, anchored by her roots, free-spirited.

Only has herself to answer to.
Learned to speak before her first steps,

never skipped a beat or tipped a toe.

From roots to new beginnings

her ambitions were a future pose.

She bloomed quickly like a summer rose.

Always in contrast with happiness
Doesn't know a smile but kisses her teeth
When she's not impressed
But myself is gratified that if it were a male

The seed I planted on the maternal womb
It would sadden her that he could be family
A straight feminine Lord it could break her heart
So we remain proud that she's a daughter

Now we'll watch her blossom with time
And continue the legacy which was mine...
Of making words create sense
In a world losing meaning or endearment
For poetic fervor