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Tell me not who I am;
The mirror lies enough.
A different face at every glance,
Their details more than rough.
A girl of nine - how pretty faced!
The first one of the three.
Her smile shy and eyes so meek
But no, she is not me.

A maiden next, in flowing gown,
Her eyes so bright with youth.
Her soft skin pale, her curling hair,
But nor is this ghost truth.

A woman now, wise by age,
Yet still a flower blooming.
Heart in daydreams, sweet and kind,
And blind to danger looming.

The secret now, to finding me,
May lie within the last.
But child she is, without the first,
There would be no past.

Without the second there'd be no present;
She binds the last and first.
And shapes the frame of soul and mind,
To quench the Age's thirst.

All intertwined, all linked, all bound;
Dependent on each other.
All three form a single soul,
Myself alone; no other.

copyright 9.16.06