Creating A Better World for All Children?
These poems are a tribute to not only my daughter but to the children of the world. I hope that these inspiring poems about daughters will resonate with readers everywhere. They honor children for their pureness of heart, honesty, imagination, and their inquisitive minds which give them such an amazing capacity to learn. We must endeavor to build a more loving and just world where all children can grow up in a safe environment and not be exploited or abused, and have the opportunity to develop their unique gifts and grow up to live good lives.
The Patter of Little Feet
I still hear the patter
of your little feet
running down the hall,
“mama, mama,”
you would call,
arms outstretched for me—
to hold you
as you were frightened
by the loud claps of thunder.
And I would give you
a warm embrace.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of…
this will pass,
and the sun will
soon come out.”
Then I placed you on my lap
in a big rocking chair,
and I would read you a story.
The thunder suddenly becoming much quieter—
only the patter of raindrops
falling on the windows
could now be heard.
“Look, it’s the rain,
and it makes seeds grow.
Remember the little seed
you planted yesterday?”
And then I would take
your little hands
and fold them inside of mine,
showing you how a seed
grows into a lovely flower.
And often times,
when we looked out the window again,
the sun was there,
and a beautiful rainbow
would appear in the sky.
You would take your crayons out
and draw the rainbow and the sun—
then you and I, holding hands,
with such happy, smiling faces.
Now you’ve grown
into a radiant flower,
spreading beauty and joy
wherever you go…
a lovely rainbow of color
follows you in your path
as you share your
grace and gifts with others.
And whenever I hear
the patter of rain
falling against the window,
I hear the patter
of little feet
against the floor…
and hear your sweet voice calling
as if it were only yesterday—
and I still feel
the softness and warmth
of your little body
as I would hold you in my arms…
forever,
my little flower.
Just Like Thumbelina
I remember the tenderness
of your little hands,
and the scent of your sweet, soft curls
under my chin;
with your little feet folded beneath you on my lap,
I would read your favorite story—
Thumbelina.
After I read the story,
you would use your little hands
to imitate Thumbelina
flying on her swallow;
and seeing others who needed help,
you would signal with your hand
that you were flying down
to rescue them—
a little bird with a broken wing,
a puppy or kitten in trouble,
or a small child who looked lost.
You would say,
“They’re all right now, Mom,
safe from harm.”
And then we would
sing your favorite song,
and you would dance,
twirling round and round,
making graceful gestures with your arms.
*“Thumbelina, Thumbelina, tiny little thing,
Thumbelina dance, Thumbelina sing.
Thumbelina, what’s the difference if you’re very small?
When your heart is full of love,
you’re nine feet tall!”
Then all the little animals who were broken,
and all the ones who were lost and needed help,
would become the names of your
toys in your room,
and I would
help you mend their injuries.
Now I see you as a grown woman,
using your incredible gifts of mind
and loving heart—
rescuing those who are injured or lost,
restoring their hope,
and the possibility to see themselves,
once again,
in the promise of a new day.
My Snow Angel
When you were a little girl,
I remember dressing you
in a lavender snowsuit,
with a heart on its jacket,
and little red boots
so that you could go outside to play.
Dazzled by this new wintry world,
you would jump in the soft white drifts
and reach for icicles that dangled
from branches of trees—
your eyes full of wonder and delight.
Lying in the snow,
you would make snow angels
as I had taught you,
so many pretty ones…
the little imprint of your body
seemed to be
a perfect size for an angel.
A little trail of footprints
could be seen across the yard
as you loved to hear your boots make
crunching sounds in the snow.
Laughing excitedly,
you would catch snowflakes
falling from the sky
with your red mittens,
and marvel at their delicate form.
How you loved discovering
new things about the world—
as you continue to do today,
often times even forging a new path,
and leaving new footprints
for others to follow.
Insights About These Poems
The three poems about daughters reflect a profound emotional landscape where love, memory, growth, and transformation intertwine. At their heart is a devotion that moves beyond simple affection into deep spiritual presence and personal witnessing. Each poem explores a different facet of the parent–child relationship, but together they map a journey: from the innocence of early years, through shared imagination and wonder, to the adult fulfillment of gifts once nurtured in childhood.
In Just Like Thumbelina, the daughter’s playful imitation of Thumbelina becomes symbolic of a heart that sees need and responds with love. Her imaginative rescue missions—saving birds, puppies, and lost children—reveal an innate compassion that transcends physical stature. What begins as childlike play becomes metaphor for a life lived with empathy and purpose. The poem’s voice is one of pride and reflection, seeing the seeds of a compassionate adult in the early gestures of a child.
My Snow Angel carries this theme into the sensory world of discovery—snow, cold, footprints, snowflakes—where the child’s simple joy reflects the wonder of engagement with the world. It celebrates curiosity, presence, and the footprints we leave behind—literal and metaphorical—suggesting that wonder can become legacy.
Across both, the bond between parent and child functions as something sacred, a space where the heart learns to see, to marvel, and to love without reservation. In witnessing the daughter’s wonder and compassion, the speaker also rediscovers beauty, hope, and continuity.
Collectively, these poems affirm that daughters are more than cherished beloveds: they are teachers, mirrors of love’s potential, and living embodiments of compassion’s promise. They remind us that the sacred often lives in the humble moments of shared play, imagination, and care.