Another Son.

Where is she then, the girl the dream foretold?

Plainly I saw her, my yellow-haired daughter,

bobbing in the shallows near to shore.

By sleep constrained, I could only hail her,

frantically directing her to drift

to land and not, as it appeared she might,

out into the vastness of open water.

Waking in alarm, clearly I perceived

how oblivion is as one dark ocean

and how birth is, indeed, a kind of coming-to-shore

and that, too fearful, too prudent,

I was leaving my would-be child to drown.

And should it now at all surprise me

to find a dream is not a prophecy

but a colourful fantastic drama

wherein some truth unfolds?

No! I'll not complain I was deceived.

Behold one triumph over caution!

A life called, and to land a life is hauled.