new zealand electronic poetry centre


Bill Manhire

online works


In the year most of the girls
started wearing bright colours,
my youngest daughter wore gray.
She sat up late, reading the paper,
nursing her terrible temper.

A lot of it slips
my mind now, but one night
her beauty slowly dawned on me;
then dawn came too
and her place was empty.

Where had she gone?
Was she lost in the headlines?
I think she must have slipped out
while I was reading something
over her shoulder.

ęBill Manhire

Last updated 11 July, 2001