Coming of Age
There is music in her hands;
The graceful gestures of a different time,
Courtly manners and a black lace fan...
A hundred shaded meanings
In my daughter's eyes...
Mysterious, sibilant laughter without mystery
Without guile
Say so many things young and beautiful.
And the dance begins inside her smile
In the middle of her first kiss
That needs no translation...
While the chandelier in a debutante ballroom
Reflects flashes of joy
In a swirl of shining silk
And a trace of elusive perfume
Warming her skin for the first time.
There is such music in her hands;
She is my princess, unawakned
Surrounded by a future beloved,
And dissapointed courtiers...
There is such wonder...
I love you, Daughter Mine.
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