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p>Judge’s comments: Accomplished treatment of a difficult verse form.

Everyone has a father,
But I’m sure the relationship is different for every son or daughter.
Mine has a beard,
And over time it has changed, along with my love
For him. His hair about the chin was absent, but it did grow
And stretch, small curly Qs, like little inchworms move and change.

And ever did it change,
First above the lip then under, connected like a clown smile on my father.
That bushy mustache poking through the picture frame, but still more to grow.
Oh the thoughts that tumble in the mind of a daughter!
I did not notice the metamorphosis and from its shell came love.
Thoughts, emotions, respect progress like the seasons of his beard.

I remember it as solid black. When he spoke, so did his beard.
Some might wish it different, but I never thought of change.
It will always be a part of him, something that I love.
What would the next stage be? We didn’t know, nor did my father.
Seeing his faults and failures, but still wanting to be his daughter.
Time passes, the inchworms march on and grow.

Today it looks like a zebra, look at those stripes grow.
White, then black, or black then white all along the beard.
Or maybe like piano keys, and I had to take those lessons like a good daughter.
He taught me about the stars and waving Aspens. There’s this quote he liked about change,
And he is always reading. I feel smarter when I talk to my father.
On some occasions he would trim his hair, but I could never trim my love.

All this talk of love,
And how it can grow.
Thoughts of my father
With his ever present beard.
I don’t want it to change,
And I’ll always be his daughter.

What is the role of a daughter?
How am I able to love?
When I have to, will it be hard to change?
Why does it grow?
Who else thinks so much about a beard?
Where else could I find such a father?

As daughter and father,
With the change of his beard,
This and love still grow.