the candle dances, a flame a whisper,
the smoke the wispy remnant of a prayer;
a daughter’s dreams a mother’s half-held hope:
Heaven may not have them, we’ll gather sighs-
angels do not need the soul within the heart.
O, daughter, your tears refract the world,
the blessing flows between your covered eyes
the healing of our future in the pass
of hands that circle, gather in the light.
Healing comes in the blink of an eye -
seeing worlds in multiples of life -
tears sowed in sorrow shimmer in Shabbos
when daughters sing and mothers rejoice
-there is a generation yet to come
an awe-filled wonder of how we’re here-
oh woman of valor, survey the years
and with your smile, sanctify the spheres.