Mayhap the laughter
That builds up inside of me
Is from a notion to be free
To think and be what I should be
No hiding in the mist
But whistling at puddy cats
To tease them about birds unseen
Though women are not supposed to whistle
Romping though the woods and streams
Even though it is not ladylike.
Who defines who I am?
Not the ancient moral codes
Nor what I was taught
But rather what I feel inside
The things that tickle my fancy
And make me stronger
Where did the notions
That women are supposed to be weak
Arise from....some seer of fate
Or fancy...but not for me.
The azure of the earrings
Bought long ago by a man
Who believed in me,
Not some fanciful child
Of southern traditions
But a growing woman
Who could survive
And thrive in a world
That is not always kind.

Laura R
4-29-03