Miss Conception

Growing up is a shock, and not only to the person concerned! Emma
was a girl I knew through her childhood, and then we moved
away...

MISS CONCEPTION

A mother blossoms, weaving flax upon a loom,
Sweet spiral sculptures of a fertile art,
That soon will wrest the future from her womb,
And leave her prey to smiles of cherished heart.
Play silver light upon the child, as yet unborn
To guide a soul - no bearings can we give
Who but consult the compass of another morn,
Distorted in long shadows wherein man must live,
For all, defined in time, can conjure only dreams
Of linen love that coming seasons dare to spin,
As from sweet childhood's seed a woman beams,
To signify, with comely guise, that pulse within,
She cradles life, yet steals my memories away,
Of wind-blown girl a-dancing in the silver spray,

Paul Styles