Help Her Carve For Halloween

She was a little toddler, Rotund with baby flesh, All over, Eyes shining in anticipation and excitement, She was the one I had, Her mother had died in child birth years ago, My little one was reared in my manly care, Though it was at best bare, Leaving me sad, All that I saw since was red, And felt less good than bad, I often lay morose and down, I lit up only when she was shown, Often it was she who came to my bed, Caressing me with those little palms, Rubbing those ruddy cheeks against mine hot ones, Looking deep in her blue eyes, Made me feel that I had deep sea dive with a sigh, All days were alike for me-sad and forlorn, But she was discovering and frolicking like a latest born, Today she came, While I was still mentally lame, She had a secretive look, As if she had something on brook, She coyly smiled, Lighting me for a little while, And left, yes simply left, She would come to me every fifteen minutes, But now she was gone for an hour, I weakly lifted and walked to her room, There it all looked mire than ever in need of broom, There she was in a corner on the carpet, With pumpkin flesh all over the floor, And on her face, hands, legs as if in a messy gore, She had a knife in her hand, And she was stooping on a murdered pumpkin, As I called her she looked up, She had long forgotten about her sup, Her eyes met mine, An energy flashed into me, Her innocence and joi de vivre went up livid, And I could remember this day quite vivid, It was this day years ago when her mother had flown, Leaving my baby and me on my own, But now the mother came alive in her baby, And was saying ,"dead I may be", Rise up and make her life, Look at her preen, And help her carve for Halloween.