You will grow, without an effort,
like plants vegetally do,
yet is deliberate to cherish
the frail gift that you transport,
weightless but overwhelming,
and not lose it for a wedding
nor sell it in a racket.
It is the small that blossoms.
Furious seems the roar to the petite,
but you shall grow to tame, to play
or dodge the worst of it.
How high it seems, how far above
just because your eyes won't keep from it,
so shall become familiar, like a limb
that is apart only to give you reach.
The worst is not today.
The worst will come, over a voice
imparting righteous so and so,
the worst to recognize the voice is yours,
and you have grown to sit.
For what demand is to belong,
to fit as if you were somebody's glove.
What sets apart and lone will make you soar
and yes, alone again, as in a crowd.
It is only the exile that is loved,
rather than merely be taken care of.
The ship is ready, and you aboard,
the journey will demand but it is yours.