Not innocent or shy or new,
But I once grew young and green and vibrant,
Watered with the freshest dew.
I was uprooted, drowned in water,
Held there under current cold.
Something broke down deep within me.
I could not withstand the mold.
Retted, torn, and sodden deeply,
I was beaten black and blue
Til my shell was loosened from me.
Nothing left for clinging to.
I was done, I thought, quite truly,
As I bleached out in the sun,
But I was spun, then, woven newly.
Another life had just begun.
My life is like a linen garment;
Fibres made from rotted weed.
My first and second dreams of grandeur
Passed, but now I'm strong indeed.
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| "Cycle" by Louise Feneley |
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