You are a gift.
You are beloved.
In a cradle of ash,
Your shadow small and slight.
They didn’t want you.
Because they didn’t understand you.
Didn’t see themselves in your eyes.
But we wanted you.
Enough to become mothers, sisters;
We, the ancient terrors of their night.
You are a gift,
you are beloved.
Of waving river reeds,
and cold marsh light.
Their monuments will fade,
as will their bones,
the cautiousness of their existence
etched thinly across riverbeds of time.
You are beloved,
you are beautiful,
and we are beautiful,
when reflected in your eyes.
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