Beautiful is the sky, and beautiful, you are.
Beautiful is the day we part for distant shores.
I am too keen for all that waits unseen-
may you grow like a flower ripened gently into fruit,
like a daisy opening
to the sun’s quiet warmth.
The picture was never painted
the way you wished;
it unfolds instead as the stars have willed.
For in our longing to be beautiful,
we forget how fragile we are—
mending small wounds in the soul
that gather softly, like dew.
And to go on living,
you must learn to bend, to crawl;
for beneath the surface of all things
lies a quiet, tender myth of joy.