I hold in my hands a box
That I once gave to her.
Filled with excitement,
Her little eyes shone
As she accepted the gift
And ran off to play.

She kept the box
And its contents
With her, all the time.
Never parting with it,
Never letting me near it.
“Mine daddy, mine!”

On this wall, freshly painted,
She drew her first picture,
Exuberant by the task,
She yelled,
Demanding my presence,
Claiming my attention.

Upon this wall,
She exhibited her talent.
“Look, Daddy, Look! Me and you.”
She proudly showed me
The two figures,
Filled with blue, orange and yellow.

This wall soon became her canvas
As she explored and expressed
Her growing skills.
A year of drawing,
A year of demanding…
A year I wish I could relive.

By this wall
I lose myself again and again
To the memories that each picture
Holds and exudes.
I cry as I realise
That my baby is no more.

The tears fall,
The loss deepens,
The reflection continues.
Every picture ever drawn
Exhibits the moments
We shared.
In my hand I hold the box
Filled with her crayons,
Filled with memories of her.
In my heart
I hold on to the joy
She provided in abundance.

This wall,
Untouched by the passing years
And growing abyss of loss
Has become a shrine (a cenotaph)
Where I spend my time
Remembering my beloved daughter.