The tiny feet pattered across the hall,
while i watched them from the wall.
She ran behind the tiny girl,
the hair was the cognizant old swirl.
Tiffins were packed,
a father she lacked.
So my love acted as both, a little
and drove my daughter in the yellow beetle.
When she came back home
after a long time, while i roamed.
And stood face to face, and cursed me,
that I left her alone.
I could just look out, and wished i could touch her,
give her long tresses a stir;
But I was just a photograph,
with her and my daughter in a yellow beetle.