"That Little Girl" ~ H Tom Milam

“That Little Girl”

(Dedicated to my darling daughter, Nina))

 
That little girl,

   With sparkling brown eyes;

   Would meet me at the door,

   Awaiting her surprise. 

She’d follow me to the kitchen,

   With eyes still gleaming;

   Spying out my lunch pail,

   Before its daily cleaning. 

I’d set my bucket in the sink,

   She’d open and rummage through it;

   With knowing eyes, she’d find the prize,

   And quickly sit down and eat it! 

The other half of a “snowball” cake,

   I left it there on purpose;  

   memories still linger of that daily scene,

   That brought our joy to surface.

Later on, in the day,

   That little girl would say:

   “Hey Daddy,”

   “Could you take time to play?”

 The anxious look,

   On that little girls face;

   Would all my weariness,

   Quickly displace.

She’d invite me in, make me sit on the couch,

   Which was her “pretend” beauty salon;

   She’d straddle my neck, and pull up my hair

   Then put those old brush rollers on. 

My hair would look so funny,

   My head a little sore to the touch;

   I wouldn’t trade those wonderful times,

   For anything, little or much.

I’ll sit,

   And sometimes ponder;

   Of those growing-up-days,

   Back yonder.  

When you’d comb my hair,

   With all those curls and twists;

   That little girl,

   I’ve surely missed. 

But look at that girl now,

   I’ll always call you “baby;”

   Nearly middle aged,

   And a beautiful Christian lady. 

I know your mommy’s proud,

   I made her a promise, you see;

   I vowed to ever take care of you,

   But it’s you that’s looking after me.

And what of the time I took you high on the mountain,

   A beautiful scene to view;

   Your mommy fussed; because it’d take all day,

   But that didn’t bother you. 

Out the back door,

   Up the hill, we slowly made our way;

   With cookies and nabs, and a bottle of water,

   We set out to spend the day.  

Ever so often we’d stop and be still,

   And watch the chipmunks play and run;

   The look on your face would say to me,

   "Daddy, this is special fun!" 

Higher and higher we made our way,

   Till finally the level plateau;

   I held her up high on that rocky point,

   And showed her our house far below. 

That little girl,

   About seven years old;

   I wouldn’t trade that wide eyed look,

   For even a pot of gold. 

We pushed some large rocks over the hill,

   They’d crash, and jump and roll;

   We wore ourselves out, then rested awhile,

   Then moved on to the highest knoll.

Our destination was just ahead,

   Nearly as high as the oak tree tops;

   We slowly climbed up the easiest side,

   To the highest point of those rocks. 

That little girl and I,

   With a sigh of great relief;

   Peered over the edge nearly a hundred feet,

   In thrilling disbelief.  

I scraped off the clinging moss,

   She said, “Daddy what did you do that for?”

   I showed her the spot where I’d carved in my name,

   Nearly thirty years before.  

She said, “Put mine there daddy,”

   Beside of yours, and mommy’s beside of mine;”

   I did as she wanted, we climbed back down,

   For now it was going home time. 

We headed out for the short cut, sloping 3,000 feet to our house,

   Sliding, jumping, running; falling, and flailing about;

   We giggled, squealed, and romped,

   Till we tuckered ourselves right out. 

Half way down the mountain,

   I could see she was too tired to make it;

   I put that girl upon my shoulders,

   Then for my energy, I had to fake it. 

She never knew how tired I was,

   That little girl of mine;

   But I wouldn’t trade a day like that,

   For a diamond studded lifetime.

 

That same little girl asked me,

   Just the other day;

   “Could we go back and do it again,

   A day that very same way?” 

Excitement Stirred within me,

   My heart leaped, as that of a little boy;

   That little girl, now all grown up,

   Still bringing her daddy joy. 

To feel needed and wanted,

   Is always an innermost plea;

   And that void is filled with knowing,

   I love you, and you love me. 

 

-END-   DAD Feb. 2008 (Tom Milam)

 

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This poem was written in 2008 by H Tom Milam, and has been published in his book "Beside Still Waters"!

 

Phil.2:16

Tom & Linda Milam

Missionaries to America