In the corner on the hardwood floor,
Is a cradle made of century old wood.
Within, lies a bundle wrapped tight,
In warm woolen cloth.

Sounds of the crackling wood,
Burning in the fireplace.
Masonry work surrounding,
The warmth that radiates.
Calming a once chaotic night.

Movement stirs the once still cradle.
By the light, a shadow moves,
Quickly, to quiet the distraught infant.

Picking her up,
Holding her to the light,
Admiring the beauty that shines from within.
Precious destruction born unto this world.
Taking life, from life.

Glittering eyes, that seem ancient,
For one day anew.
An old soul reborn,
With knowledge from centuries.

To take her into a world,
Known, yet unknown.
Show her the way,
That is her legacy.
To carry on.

09/20/2001

Posted on 09/20/2001
Copyright © 2024 Stephanie Myers