The dream of you took birth in
my heart, long before
you were, in love, conceived.
A daughter, a piece of the chain,
to link the generations
of women within a family.
Then, molded from the ineffable passions
of the conjugal knot, the idea of you
became a new beating heart
carried beneath my own.
I felt you grow as my
boundless affection for you grew.
Even in the pain of birth
I celebrated the gifts you
delivered to my life.
I see my face in yours,
coupled with hints of your father,
and touches of our parents.
I hear my voice in yours,
with the years between us removed.
I know your soul
for its goodness and gentleness
radiate from eyes
which are the same peculiar gray blue
as your father’s.
You have exceeded the teacher
in your capacity for acceptance
and awareness of the value of all people.
You glory in your own child
even as you struggle with the
burdens and responsibilities
of single parenthood.
You have chosen to grow
while others of your generation
have chosen stagnation and self-pity.
From the feather light fancy
of my imagination
to the glorious reality of your life,
you bless me.
My daughter.