11,041 vagabonds plus:
She's probably heard it so much. You know, about her eyes. How beautiful and luminous, and how you can not turn away. She does not roll her eyes in disbelief or monotony, nor look away herself. Her lucid pupils are intelligent, good-natured, and she's no-nonsense, direct to the point, like her straight nose. My goal is to say something just pithy enough for her to smile without looking away, and my heart flutters when she genuinely laughs. The doctors have ordered me not to talk, not to rise, but from my bedroom window of this thatched cottage I welcome her approach like the saged Moon peeking through the raining willows on an indigo evening. She's not proud - takes no interest in her own reflection, yet in conversation, is never careless or unkind, and is reflective in thought to my own quietness. She's tender as I've observed her small hands restlessly straighten and flatten the quilt. I bequeath all my books for those hands, for those eyes, and I shall know my daughter will one day become a fine woman.
image: Duane Michals
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