Rising from her dank decline
she washed away the filthy film of blighted years
and fixed me with a fullsome smile,
her lips, her cheeks, her gleaming eyes
alive with shining rhapsody.
and if I danced a step for every tear I shed
and sang a note for every time I feared she’d die,
it would be a fitting tribute to the joy she brings,
but I would sing and dance my life away
in honour of my risen child.
released from dark captivity
where mind and matter had no hold,
she stands strong, a miracle of growth.
Elegantly engaging with the world,
she thinks of better things
and speaks her mind.
a brave surviver.
Her heart aligned to authenticity,
Celebrating, she embraces me.
She is alive.
©Jane Paterson Basil