(In honor of my daughter)
Her name is that of a flower,
You love her more by the hour.
With hair a soft, warm brown;
Upon her head there sits a crown.
Not one visible to the eye,
But in her soul will glorify
Her King seated on the throne,
Whose love for her was set in stone.
A bright, deep blue her eyes do shine,
To fit His perfect design.
They look with wonder all around,
Her spirit still unbound.
Her tongue was made to speak His praise
To set our cold hearts ablaze.
Her laugh a booming thunder,
That shakes the world with wonder.
Though too young she is now,
This will be her solemn vow:
To praise her Lord forever,
Whose love ceases never.