She sings a snaring song.
A song not to dance to,
But dedicated to gliding forward.
She sings a mind-altering song for
Those who were always told it is unsafe
To dive the waters.
She sings of writers and activists,
First Ladies and authors who
Went With the Wind…
Until in the new place she has now found:
Her name is read beyond this mailbox,
Proving she arrived &
She sings a song.
A song of Ivy Days radiating perennial blue
In the firmament of the North she resides.
A song rising like Delphinium Blue Birds
We are not flowers;
A song shared with her six brilliant sisters
Whose sibling rivalries have pushed her off the stairs
Into the Illumination waiting in the night.
She sings her song
How sweetly it sounds
She sings to her sisters, the mothers, your daughters,
She sings to the world,
I have made it here,
On her own, that’s the song
Of a Pioneer.
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