Poem ‘For A Daughter’ by Lynne Bryer

I have never wanted to hold a woman
as much as I yearn for you,
for the sweet heavy weight I tested,
yearly, as you grew.

Now memory is the scent
I search while you sleep at dawn:
is it peaches, wheat ears, milk?
Some essence of daughter, warm

With the musk of your hair:
from that strong blonde crown
that gives you despair
as it bushes and flares, growing low

From your forehead like a frown.
Wait and see! Your hair will be your glory yet.
And I give you yourself at twenty: tall,
fair, and wearing the garments of then,

But always reminding watchers of wheat,
of the farms they have known, and the folds
of white robes loosely waisted with gold,
sheaves rocked in your arms.