I grew up the day my Papa died
The day I held his hand one last time
I grew up the day I kissed him goodbye
My last kiss on his learned brow
I grew up the day I knew
I may never sit on the throne of his lap
That was the throne where I sat and believed
I was his little Princess
Gone are the fairy tales and wings
But they will be kept
In the treasure chest of my heart
Still, I heard my Papa whisper: “Hush Princess, do not cry”
I know I would forever hear his voice inside me:
“You are my daughter, I know there is nothing you cannot do”
Perhaps, from now on, I would believe in my self
The way Papa always believed in me
Ironic, how I used to dream of him
Walking with me in white, down that long, long aisle
Now, it would be me in black
who would walk him through that aisle
Nevertheless, in either case,
He would say with a smile these exact same lines:
“Hush, Princess, do not cry,
My little girl is a lady now”
I grew up the day my Papa died
His warm breath I could no longer feel
I grew up the day I faced death—
And smiled at it as my Papa would
And smiled at it as my Papa did.
Source: www.isnare.com