Daughter to me

An angel on a cradle.
like the one in morisot's painting,
on a summer day like Julie daydream 
in Morisot's painting.
Skipping barely through the garden 
chasing butterflies like on Morisot's painting.
Now my mind wonders 
if she would have cared
if i had shared presence 
in the canvas in which she was born.
Sad thoughts of hope 
and wishing to have seen 
this angel with little toddler feet. 
And scribbled mud of her chin.
How my eyes see joy to the sky's 
like cute soprice.
From a artist coloring in tiny coloring books, to now becoming the canvas 
and herself the brush,
and now art.
A different sketch a day. 
Bright rainbow today 
and lipstic gothic some days.
 Now a young lady like her mother 
and two siblings that follow.
She now portraits angelica kauff, 
but  no man nor presence.
of a loving friend 
in dear and clear fatherly delay.
Now with no time to share 
reminds my thought to a vision 
of famous ms leo Carrington.
but our angelica was the real surrealist. 
Sure and realistic 
a magma at present time. 
Living me with the pass of Eugene maret. 
in canvas with daughter. 
But the feeling of inscribleling the pass 
to fulfill empty spaces to fill. 
And allusion of decorating the now.  
Drowning in hopes of sorrow 
like old man on van Gogh's brush. 
That seems to hold and stick 
like lonequisote threshold for eternity,
And all i imagine is a reality.
to wish i was there 
when she ran around like kind mit taube. 
A fresh sketch of Picasso's pass. 
But now not so little girl 
with blue jersey on canvas 
now feeling self thought and inspired 
by her nature with hopes 
of joy but to never return 
feeling alone.  
only sees her self portrait 
like the quote drowning in sorrow but bastards learn how to swim.
So fast to run and now frees freedom. 
To a new border of elite 
like the famous frida kahlo. 
She's know dream 
or nightmare 
she's reality. ?
To a daughter by heart