She Whirled Before Me

She whirled before me, guileless,
eager face straining for the sky,
light rain chiseling a smile
glorious on glistening cheeks.
She extended her arms full-length
in opposite directions, flat palms
and feathery fingers seemingly
practiced in the art of soaring.
Moments before, she broke loose
from the boughs of my umbrella,
to announce an eight-year-old’s vision
and credo: I gotta be free!

Longing to join the gambol
but hobbled by an arthritic hip
and the rust of years given
to caution and conformity, I settled
for silence and reverent awe
in the presence of this young
priestess and her primal
celebration of life.

© 2006 Dennis Ference

21 thoughts on “She Whirled Before Me

  1. Beautiful poem. When much in life doesn’t seem to make sense, I look to my children. It amazes me how quickly I gain insight and perspective just by observing how they approach life with innocence and joy. Thanks for sharing!

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