What can I say about the woman,
Who grows younger with age;
And when she smiles,
It looks like the sun shines out from her face.
The woman, who
Struts the earth, like it’s her stage,
And it’s dwellers, her audience.
Whose voice carries an arid detachment
Yet holds within it- a sanctity which says
Okay- you got this- I am here for you,
What can I say about the woman-
Who is part storm, part rainbow,
Part rebel, part angel;
Part Iron, Part Honey
A woman who is everything
I hope to be.
All I want to say,
I cannot say…
About the woman who grows younger
With every passing day.