A dark young soul, a flame-haired girl,
Came together in a fated swirl.
Created a child with curly brown hair,
Gave her a name and left her there.
They travelled the world to make ends meet,
Left their daughter mild & sweet…
To fend for herself in the bosom of youth.
To make sense of the lies to discover some truth.
Everyone said, “times were so hard”.
Winter came and filled up the yard.
Up north it was cold, colder than death.
Icicles came from old warm breath.
Memories of winter, memories of shame.
Memories of years under pointless blame.
Of course, it was hard. Harder than stone…
For the flame-haired one, always alone.
What of the daughter mild, so sweet?
Left with her heart on a northern street?
Did the seedling grow so wild, to bloom?
In that frosty, northern room?
Truth be told for the truth is right!
She grew stronger with all her might.
Born of hope in an age of light –
She knows darkness comes without night.
Wise beyond her apparent years,
Reading books through tired tears.
The curly girl from the northern land,
Lived her life with a blessed hand.
Knowledge freed her from the past,
To teach her pain would never last.
Kindness was her rule of law.
Her heart was more an open door.
From darkest times, she emerged heroic.
Ever loving, ever stoic.
Ponder this tale told many a time…
Never so telling as when told in rhyme.
Words on a page. Stories of old.
Words on a page. True and cold.
Words of hope in this age of light.
Kindness makes this past take flight.
©The Secret Poetess, January 2017