As the night twists <br />Unhappily like a knife <br />Into a vital organ, <br />All I can do is ask <br />Where is my daughter <br />Of a pretty age? <br /> <br />I’m cloaked in despair <br />And filled with rage. <br />I wish I could <br />Hold her hand <br />And talk in a secret place, <br />But I remember, <br />I’m childless <br />And finishing my course <br />In infinite loneliness.<br /><br />Uriah Hamilton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/daughter-of-a-pretty-age/
