I was made yesterday

I was born, wowed and envied.

I knew they were coming in that order

With the applause I wondered if I could reach up the bay,

I waited and the crowd grew broader.

He reached his finger towards the corner of his eye; ‘they dare not see it; it’s not been any easy for me’

Shifting slowly he thought he’d get up, until he saw the other one move

‘I can’t go now,’ thought he, ‘It’s not my groove.’

I hate to admit it, she called me several times

‘I know you’ll be proud of me one day,’ said she and then she went about honing herself,

With the constant clatter on the keyboard; Oh! that constant chime

If only I could see her once more; perhaps it would not be as painful

She laughed and wrote, then wrote and smiled

I smirked at her in vain;

She never told me that the writer I lauded

Was really her own pen name

I spoke of the pen name with mirth and joy and poked her often to be like that boy

Her heart ached and I never knew it would be malignant

I knew not that the time was up, that instant.

The other man now talks of her

Bringing down peels of joy, I try hard but cannot escape her light

Perhaps if I would have spoken to her one last time

Perhaps she would be still living tonight.

Her award glistens with that man

I still hate to see his sight;

Perhaps I should have known that my little girl was this wonderful and this bright!