To a Younger Daughter

I do not chide the rose
for wearing its heavy scent
and dusky red
so languidly upon its stem.
I do not reprimand volcanoes
for sending tears of lava
down their rocky cheeks,
and tigers of necessity
must hunt.
Why, then, should your honest lamentations
anger me? You are a thorny flower,
eruptive, and hungry as only a cat can be,
but you are truthful in your rage.
You owe a debt to age
which you will pay, no doubt, begrudgingly,
but do not let the manners of maturity
cover quite completely 
all that wildness you possess.
It is something with which you are blessed
and with it you may conquer
fear
or all
or even
a single fortunate heart.

December 20 2011