Little to no hair covers her head,
It is clearly going to be a mop of red.
Her eyes the bluest of blue,
I think we'll name her Lou.
Now Lou is a tiny tot,
How much bigger she has got!
With freckles across her nose,
Perhaps we should have called her Rose.
Oh, but now she is off to school,
Our precious little jewel.
We cry as we leave her at the gate,
Her destiny now awaits.
Now she is a grown teen,
Our beautiful little queen!
It may sound like we spoil her,
But as best as we can we raise her.
Oh, we cry and weep and wipe our eyes,
For our tears and sadness we cannot disguise.
Little Lou is not so little anymore,
And her maturity we cannot ignore.
Lou has graduated a while ago,
The years do not go slow!
She can drive a car,
And sings and plays guitar.
A boy has asked for her hand,
And so we do understand.
We are blessed with a kind young man,
And so the wedding plan began.
A white dress and veil,
Our red-haired queen we hail!
And when the priest has married them,
We part with our little gem.
We shall still send her daily love,
Perhaps with a pretty white dove.
And we, the parents, will write to her,
For we are all still whom we once were.
Today, we knock on her door,
And our hearts are so very sore!
Two children and a man,
Behind Lou, they yell, "It's Pop and Gran!".
Lou nurses a third child,
"Her name is Rose!" she says, her smile mild.
My husband and I look at each other,
And a smile we do not smother.
For if you remember,
When she was toddling in December!
Perhaps we should have called her Rose,
And perhaps we should not have - for the name we chose…
Suits her better