I rest upon the
hand that carves the dawn,
From whose last
page of history was born
A girl with no
reflection from the past,
A woman now,
a mother unsurpassed.
From pain and
pleasure in the birthing room
These pyramid
year’s her season to bloom;
And though her
heart was victim to two griefs,
When from the
family tree fell two strong leaves,
She walks a strand
of proof to weave her light
Between the bands
of falsehood that we might
Find solace in
our own immortal space,
That never shall
by distance be replaced.
