18.

Daughter, you are more delicate

Than any of my words, you quicken me

And keep me from gloom. You stride this side

Of being a woman and calling the world,

I hope, your own. When I saw you rise up

From the womb, thrashing, wide-eyed, moving

Your limbs with intelligence

I knew I could teach you nothing

But might be your guide this side

Of paradise. What can I say

About love when time has changed

And you will have a world to invent?

I hear your wit as I fade in the wood

And the limbs of the gods have turned to leaves.