Priscilla's Daughter

Not many voices are nearer

Priscilla's daughter.

Not many are so young in the morning

alive with quiet eyes

and hands that clench and unclench.

Your voice is clear,

like morning air;

and your purple blouse

is like lilacs.

Your breath carries honey scents

that drive the bees mad and

send the birds

singing into the dew.

Priscilla's daughter,

young with voices,

which soar like the butterflies,

that sat through the night, dew-drenched, and heavy,

then dry in the morning sun

and rise exuberantly.

You are among the brightest

as you lift your voice

to the sky.