The elders look down their noses
gaze severe
tutting the overgrown girl who roams the garden
in bare feet
How dare she tiptoe around
the circle
shunning the shrouded mysteries
See how she raises empty hands
to fill with rain
then cup to her own mouth
stained with innocence
adrift in blissful fantasy
How dare she!
She tilts her head, wondering
when the elders traded
the sweetness and burst of grapes
for bitter wines
and dry bread
that crumbles in their mouths
When did they lose their zest
for spring’s green hope
that dawn will rise
with golden light to paint the sky?
She refuses to hate her own
wind-kissed knees
from twirling skirts
and loose, messy hair.
The days are made
for a child’s faith
to see the world in wonder
and taste the new
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