(To my niece, who is both an athlete and a musician.)


I marvelled at you on the holidays:

A beauty now, your mother fresh-revised.

“She’s like the hammered dulcimer she plays,”

I thought; “she’s music, though it’s for the eyes– “

A music which can dance to its own sound,

And stimulate beholders to delight;

Young womanhood, so very nearly found,

May move some boy one day to be a knight.”

That’s you, Elizabeth, so strong of mind

And creativity, that outward looks

Crept up like friendly ninjas from behind,

And sprang on you while you were reading books.

Now, dancing, sculling, or what else you do,

You’re doomed, you know, to folks admiring you.

By Joseph R. Ravitts