A Sonnet for Sara

Wraith-like in your first moment of truth, you yowled;

as the doc grinned and said, "a baby girl, ma'am. . . Only a woman can yell this loud!"

protesting, doubtless at this violation of your comfortable fortress,

scolding the doc for causing such distress!

And once you found movement, you could never be still,

and when you found speech, your words each silence did fill.

As did your lisped-out perfectly pitched songs;

and soon little fingers found a way to play along.

Twenty years, a lifetime lived in each swinging moment,

from great joy to the deepest angst to torment

a heart that feels too much, imagines the worst

a mind too often plagued and curst

and yet that spirit which belies it all

the quicker you rise after each fall.