Fabian Writes      [email protected]

How beautiful is my daughter,
How exquisitely, poignantly beautiful.
She sees me now, she lifts her hand, languidly,
She on the river and I on the verge.

Why is there pain in beauty?
Why do tears fall in happiness?
This child-woman, part of me and yet separate,
With secrets known to her alone,

Sits slowly drifting, lips parted, dreamily. 
How timeless is youth, how aged is time.
The bright river flows on and she with it.
My child, stay for me!

Fabian Writes, 1973.