Looking into my daughter’s eyes I read <br />Beneath the innocence of morning flesh <br />Concealed, hintings of death she does not heed. <br />Coldest of winds have blown this hair, and mesh <br />Of seaweed snarled these miniatures of hands; <br />The night’s slow poison, tolerant and bland, <br />Has moved her blood. Parched years that I have seen <br />That may be hers appear: foul, lingering <br />Death in certain war, the slim legs green. <br />Or, fed on hate, she relishes the sting <br />Of others’ agony; perhaps the cruel <br />Bride of a syphilitic or a fool. <br />These speculations sour in the sun. <br />I have no daughter. I desire none.<br /><br />Weldon Kees<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-my-daughter-5/
