These bars keep me from my daughter,
They tell me I'm in here for slaughter,
I have no memory of committing any crime,
I can't remember stealing a dime,
How I wish to feel my daughter in my arms again,
I miss her so much, where do I begin?
Her laugh,
Her smile,
It'll all be worthwhile,
For the day I feel her embrace,
And put another smile on her face,
While blushes rosy red,
Like when I tuck her into bed,
She pleads for the same book to be read,
'Off with his Head',
The realisation hits me hard,
My daughter's dead.
YOU ARE READING
🅑🅛🅐🅒🅚 🅐🅝🅓 🅦🅗🅘🅣🅔
Poetryтнε sмιℓε ση мү ғαcε ωιℓℓ נυsт gσ αωαү σηε ∂αү, ιт ιsη'т нαя∂ тσ ωαsн σғғ ραιηт
