Elizabeth Locke

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April's Treasure

She skips along ahead of me
Laughter ringing merrily,
Blossoms fill the little hands
Clasping sweetly all the strands
Of daffodils in bright bouquet
Golden curls and little red hat
Turning this way then to that,
I see her tiny, turned-up nose
As she stoops to kiss the rose
That trails the wall in flushed array
I touch the rose and whisper low,
"You are sweet and yet I know
Someone with a dimpled chin
Is sweeter than your petals thin
And she is five years old today!"

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