A daughter sees the parade

By

I lifted her above my shoulders
so she could see the parade,
heard her clap deliriously
as the marching band strode by.
Brass instruments, flash uniforms,
had no claim on my eye.
My parade was her happiness,
giggling in one place,
or, if it were to move at all,
on glorious 4-year-old wings,
with a blissful heart's ascension.

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