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One day, she had found herself old enough to hold her dad's pen,
And scribble onto a piece of paper, as her dad had done so.
But as she began, and to say it was her first time, her hand moved uncontrollably
Like sand, Words fell out onto the paper, which she arranged, now it was important to know:
This was a time, she shouldn't have held a pen so proud
So one might question why she had thought aloud.

Onto the paper she scribbled like a maniac, hungry for words,
But soon she found herself exhausted and as she looked out, it was already getting dark.
Reading over it her dad's heart felt a pain sharp like swords
Etching into his skin, 
So one might begin to question her dad, as to why he left his pen lying around,
When he knew it wasn't for everyone to pick up to give one anger profound.

But as the night grew from twilight, he decided to go to his daughter who sat out in the garden,
She had held her own pen now, staring dazzled onto the night sky, 
As he saw her soft smile, his before soft, tender heart started to harden.
What he felt that day, wasn't any more than a feeling of great despair, to learn his daughter had rebelled.
“What is it that you look for in the skies? It isn't for you to do so. Go inside and do what you should,
What is expected of you girls to do.”

So she cried that night, her newly found passion destroyed by such uttered words,
Words, which she had started to adore, as the slip of the tongue.
It was important for her to not look in that direction, and turn back to what she should.
For it was time, where she shouldn't, she couldn't, and mustn't hold a pen so proud,
And love the taste of words, to fill the hungry mind.

Instead, she must leave it to her father, to express the empty words.
As he became so soulless so had his words,
So one might question, what use would there be in listening to this man's words which were without emotion,
As his daughter could be seen in the background (where she belonged)
In a room, doing what a girl must.
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