Pink

Past your nearly adult face,
I still see the round, pudgy baby
Sister,
Reaching towards me.
I was only five;
Barely big enough to hold you,
But to ask me to
Let go
Was like asking the ocean
"Please, ocean, make your waves less fierce."
Mother nature cannot be controlled.
And now you pound against the window,
Anxious to see the world for yourself.
Try as I may to hold you back,
To protect you,
Every year
You look less like the baby I carried
So closely to my chest.