At seven you watch your birthday candles
As your father lights each one slowly,
Hypnotized by their flickering bright light,
Impatient to do it yourself.
And I warn you, “Stop or you’ll burn yourself.”
At six she wanders boldly in the streets,
Inspecting like an adult the ruins of an ongoing war,
Fascinated by the sounds of falling stones,
Tweeting for help to get out,
No one telling her to be careful of the bombs.
I quietly send a note
To whoever watches over you,
Thank you, I say,
And watch over her too.