All things Beautiful

And she sang stories in the morning

To herself

As she sat naked on the bed

Rubbing oil into her body

To soften

Soften coarse skin hardened yesterday

And to still prying memories

As they sail the marrow of her shoulders

Her smile, from her mother’s side

Greeted warmly by strangers in winter

And her eyes, of Russian decent

From her father

Untamed and frightened

Wondering why the windows to her soul

Were reminiscent of her father

As two souls could be no further apart

But her voice was hers alone

Wholeness weaving between tones

And she sang stories in the morning

To herself

As she sat naked on the bed

To honour the human made of all things beautiful

And rejoice the unique woman she is