She nestles in the curl 

of her father’s arms

and chirps 

like a sticky little sparrow 

as her dimpled hand flutters flimsily 

towards the brambles 

of his beard 

and stops.

just outside

the Gate of Uncertainty…

but then Sunrise weaves around  

his bearded nest

bidding her hand plunge

like a winged warbler 

she darts

through filagreed paths

and perches 

on her father’s shoulders,

holds onto 

his whiskery mess

through bramble berry romps

and moonlight

and flying fish summers

and barbecued hot dogs

until memories  

are packed like peanut butter  

and jam sandwiches

into brown paper bags

so that…

even after 

hoar frost sparkles

his once golden beard

and he flies like a sparrow 

into his sun-set

she still sees

golden filigree

at the edges of sparrows nests

and is certain 

she will see her father

each sunrise

~ Blessed are you Adonai who restores our souls to us each morning~