(A response to a Silver Birch Prompt-"Me, at 17")
At seventeen I met Joy Bevan,
her voice so soft and low,
her mind entirely beautiful.
her gentle inner glow.
At seventeen she was my guide
through the realms of gold.
With a kindly, skilful, gentle hand
she let those realms unfold.
At seventeen she showed me treasure
beyond all place and time,
deep, powerful, beautiful and sad,
a complex journey of the mind.
At seventeen she helped me love
a landscape littered with jewels,
said the journey and not its end
should be your lifelong rule.
At seventeen I gave poor thanks
for her gifts and dedication.
Now, too late, I sing her praise
In sad, posthumous recognition.