It’s hard to write a poem about a girl whose ten.
Because she’s always changing, so where do you begin?
Do you write about the girl who plays with baby dolls?
Or of the new young lady, who likes to make phone calls?
One day she’s slow and awkward. Just an ugly duck.
The next with grace and poise, her looks by some are struck.
One day she’s chasing Eric, to teach him who’s the boss.
The next she’s met some fellow, whose words are at a loss.
You see she’s at a special age, that happens when you’re ten.
Her baby years she’s shedding. A new age to begin.
No more smiles with missing teeth. No funny toothless grin.
That was many years ago, for now our girl is ten.
But let me look more closely into my crystal ball.
To see what ten more years will bring and I will tell it all.
I see a lady dressed in white with lace about her neck.
And next to her an older man, today he is a wreck.
He walked her down a flower strewn isle. Her arm held tight in his.
He turns and lifts her tiny veil, to give her one more kiss.
And takes her hand and places it upon a waiting arm.
For now it is another to whom she gives her charm.
She’s half way there, this child of ours, halfway to lady hood.
So spend the years that you have left, teaching her what’s good.
And when the day has finally come when she is fully grown.
You’ll trust the Lord, you’ve done what’s right and reap the seeds you’ve sown.