Her father was told many times
That she would never know
Or even be aware of him,
But still he loved her so
And as she sits by the window
Framed by the mirrored sunset
Her father still speaks softly
To his little silhouette
**********************
Some locks are not of iron,
Her mother was often told
And some of the things they guard
Are more precious than silver or gold.
So her mother tunes her voice each night
To the susurrus of the sea.
She matches the tidal rhythm
And sings in a skeleton key
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