My Daughters

My Daughters

My daughters are the gentle drizzle of rain

A blast of an erupting volcano

They are riches of the ground, the gold rush, the

Means to be bejeweled

They are the ocean sea, the calming waves

rolling on the sand

A tsunami, a force of raging tides.

If you see my daughters, you might think they are

The snow-like ash, the simple shivering slush of winter

But they are the

blazing burning Wildfires, unable to be subtle.