Protector Without A Sword

This tale is not a fiction,

For it is assembled with affection,

The journey of an infant as she grew,

Endless beautiful memories are left to sew.

Once when she wept when the beasts cry,

Mum tucked her in her bosom with wry,

Another soul was worried all this while,

Searching for toys to make her smile.

A notorious girl as she was,

Mum complained without a pause,

She found solace around a wall,

For whom she was still so small.

That Raven's night when she burned like a stove,

All hands raised in expectations of hope,

Those trembling hands were rubbing her palm,

All this time holding his calm.

In the light of cheer, he suppressed his tears,

When she left the home he held his fears,

A role model of every daughter in the world,

That's a father whose sacrifices are rarely heard.