The first girl in four generations
To bear the name of her father,
On a crisp fall day
When the perfume of decaying leaves and woodstove fires
And sweet smells of vented clothing dryers
Crowned her head like wisps of ancient magic fire,
Caught her reflection in the glass
And saw a woman on the shore
A thousand miles away or more
And a hundred and fifty years too gone.
With deep black eyes she looked upon her kin,
The ivory skin and red hair, the mark of her tribe,
Her name lost to memory and time.
The modern world bends to
The beauty of pretence.
A façade of genteel social grace,
Shaking hands and saving face.
Perhaps it was so in your time and place,
But I know you.
You are strong and unrepentant
Mind of quiet introspection
Heart of fierce determination
Soul forged strong of lifes cold hammer
Breaking neither for this worlds pain nor promises.
Lost in her time, more audacious and sublime
Than permitted in this age.
In another four generations
My dark-eyed one will watch with silent fascination
As my reflection meets her own
And in that time, as I know you, so will she know me.
~Darkling Plain, Sept. 5, 2006
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