Dusk paints the horizon with amethyst hues
chirpy birds flock back to their nests.
In anticipation, I scamper to the fields
to peer across the setting sun,
drenched in impassioned hope
to see my father’s silhouette walking back,
from the war.
I dream of him all the time
lifting me up, in his strong arms,
tickle my funny bone,
regale me with his stories of valor.
But like every other evening, I walk back alone,
I imprison my tears beneath the disguise of fortitude,
so that my defeated eyes never let them out.
People say I am the daughter of a brave soldier!