When I was born, I had your name
Planted in the midst of mine –
A tiny seed, two syllables,
New parents’ nod to family line.
The seed lay quiet, waiting there,
No teacher gave it water,
Until the school of motherhood
Raised “Amy” in granddaughter.
With burning sun of questioning
What things my clan should know,
And rain of tears for wisdom lost
As generations go.
The gift that I inherited,
This mind that grasps and quests,
(And ‘til it maps the scheme of things,
This mind that never rests)
Has given birth in fertile soil
To thoughts and written words;
No longer waiting quietly,
It’s yearning to be heard.
Now as I seek to add one book
To yours up on the shelf,
I only hope to dignify
Your name within myself.
