Stop Moving

When my daughter was little,
She would come up to me
With brush and hair tie.
“Braid my hair, Daddy,”
She would say.
Then, she would look at me
With adoring eyes
While I brush her hair
And part it three ways.
Then, I would start to braid.
She would move her head
To get a better view of me
With adoring eyes.
“Stop moving around,”
I would say.
Finally, my then wife took over
Braiding her hair.
As I watched her grow up,
Sometimes I would be tempted
To say, “Stop moving.”

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