In these early days before the sun has
risen high enough to light your nascent
life its crescent moon invites your every
mood; early days delighting rendezvous
in easy flights of modest turpitude.
You’re young; your beauty but a budding rose
whose bloom will pale the stars, and angels shall
exalt the way your smile enhanced their skies.
You’re young; you ride a tiger’s hungry eyes
in shards of brittle light, glitter with the
sights and sounds exciting through the warming
night – you’re young my spirit daughter born in
argent true, and sing we shall with praising
words these eulogies we’ve fondly learned for
you...
© 9 November 2007, I. D. Carswell
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