המתת השור

silken hair
wide eyes little hands
running through
the blossoming like, thick as spring blond rivers
dark wheat
russian bubka
remnance of cold skies there
before the kill
after the endless night
now the sun is playing with the blue shades of her eyes
alive
child
laughters come glittering with wit
observing eyes
of all what pushes and lives around
nothing to escape this gaze
a running child a young beauty
already Her, not yet young
so young
playing, laughing with giggle laughs
the debut of springs splashing
as if her tiny hands alike
were not enough to seize the moments to share
the moments to come
envelopping the golden child
the baby to become
with her loving arms
warmth
life
to her daddy
for what is worth in life