My daughter

How beautiful is my daughter, how exquisitely, poignantly beautiful!

She sees me now, she lifts her hand, languidly, she on the river, I on the verge.

Why is there pain in beauty? Why do tears fall in happiness?

This child-woman, part of me and yet separate, with secrets known to her alone,

sits slowly drifting, lips parted dreamily

How timeless is youth, how aged is time! the bright river flows on, and she with it.

My child, stay for me!

by Fay Berry, 1972

I wrote this when I was sitting on the grass by the River Torrens watching my eldest daughter floating along in a paddle boat before I took her the the rest of my children to Sunday School at Enfield.