My Little Girl — Talk of the Heart

My eye is on her — my little girl — preening before the mirror, face to face, hour after hour... and she does not tire...

My eye is on her... I steal glance after glance from behind a book, while she stands before the mirror, at her full height, questioning it with a gaze full of curiosity and full of longing... She cheats her nine years with a dress, gay and flowing... and with a belt that binds the waist cruelly, that it may perhaps bring out something here... and something there!!

And my little girl asks me, with a female's coquetry, standing proud, working at her hair with one hand while with the other she manages the softness of the trailing silk... and she stretches her effort to its utmost... to the very tips of her limbs:

— When will I be like you, Mama?
— How so?
— When will I have... what you have?

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My little girl hurries the years along... fretting and grumbling... where is she to find the patience for a wait that may last two years... and more?!
When will the sheaths of the dewy bud begin to unfold and breathe fragrance... so that my little girl will no longer be... a nobody, no eye catching on her... and desiring her??!