My mother strokes my hair

In a pile of curls on her lap

She tells me stories of old

As I gladly fall asleep for a nap

My father spins me round the kitchen

I laugh until my sides ache

He calls me ‘princess’ and ‘darling’

It’s him I seek the moment I wake

My sister gives me all her old clothes

And braids flowers into my hair

We spend hours talking into the night

For me she always has time to spare

My brother plays games with me

Some I don’t always win

But he makes it up to me with sweets

And we’ll take the car for a spin

I am not my parent’s favorite child

Her first name is my middle

They say that she’s a baby angel

I think they miss her - even just a little