Father

When I was small
You sat on the edge of my bed
And brought magic to my dreams
In each story you read.
Little did you know the faith
You planted in that little girl
Taught her that no star could not be touched
Nor any dreamed not breathed.
Now this girl is not so small
And walks paths without your hand in hers,
But she still reads books with your pencil in her hand
And the gifts you gave her
Their source, is rare forgot.