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Tenth Birthday
by Marjorie Knapp

She woke before the sun.
She heard the still small sounds
which whisper when the night
is gone. Though all the curtains
of her room were drawn, she saw
the gray light creep across the sill.
This was her day. How would it help
fulfill her destiny? She looked out
at the dawn. Stepping across the
velvet of the lawn, she saw
the purple of a distant hill.

In cloak and slippers, she glided
through the halls softly—she would
disturb none still asleep—
then looked through maple branches
to the sky; her small heart beating
against its delicate walls, the marvel
of ten years too much to keep.
“What is this lovely world,
and who am I?”

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