by Anita Doran
I want to be the special potter,
Who molds and shapes my little daughter.
To keep her closely to my side,
To teach her why our Jesus died.
I think that she is doing great,
Especially since she's only eight.
She shops, she bakes, she mops the floor,
Has two cats she's responsible for.
She can read a product label
To see if it's fit for our table.
I teach her all about life, you see,
As she tags along with me.
And no matter where we roam,
We keep on learning, just like home.
We add a little mystery,
By learning the state's history.
Although she reads and writes and sings,
She's learning more important things.
Like love and kindness and God's word,
How to be humble, yet still be heard.
Sure it's hard and I have doubts,
"Am I doing this right?" "How will she turn out?"
And my house gets such a mess!
Too many papers strewn, I guess.
Sometimes frustration rears its head,
She didn't do what I said.
Yet, all in all, it is a charm,
To have my daughter on my arm.
If I ever have a doubt,
I get our big old Bible out.
In the book, I always see
That this is how it's meant to be.
Side by side, day by day,
Teaching her the Godly way.
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