Flustered, I am paralyzed
For what I want is realized
Captured, released like unfettered bird
She was a sorceress with written word
Hungry for learning, zealous, committed
Corralled by the customs, but wickedly witted
Distinctly precocious, not supercilious
Unconventional and staunchly rebellious
She remained hidden, unbidden
Her true passions forbidden
Then bid us good riddance
And giddy with yen
Confident to call ourselves poet
Are we aware we are in her debt
Would she, if able, even collect?
We pay her homage in our writings
And thank you if they’re found inviting
Imperceptible nod, an appreciation
And I, in accordance, continue creation
In hopes of achieving the smallest of goals
To reach, to beseech, the meeting of souls
Not in my time, as she not in hers
Elusive acceptance we hope we deserve
But in our pursuit, we remain undeterred
Until willingly, or not, we are hereafter interred…