Memories of a little southern girl with a ribbon in her hair

His arms are tree trunks with hairs to play.

Every day like this is some sunny Sunday.

The peeling white fence by the reedy dunes.

Salty breezes warmed by languid afternoons.

A julep sweating and resting on his knee.

We sit on the porch, staring at daddy’s sea.

Mint wafts from his glass smelling sweet and tart.

I nestle close, squirming my head on daddy’s heart.

Until the morrow comes in sorrow’s droves,

And daddy leaves because daddies always go.

Haven't had any impressionist pieces in a while. This Renoir is a great return I think, although not what I would consider one of his classics. I'm very interested in feedback on this one, it's a complete departure for me. It's interesting because the poem started off as a different idea in my head and morphed into this. It's funny to see how these things turn out; half of the time, I have no idea until it's done. The rhythm and construction was very deliberate-- let me know if you think it helps or hurts the delivery. Can you "see" this poem's image? I wanted it to be graphically descriptive, but not overwhelming.