Europa Ll Poem by Morgan Michaels

These thoughts and others plagued her as she strolled seashoreward with her girlfriends, laughing the while. Of them all, she was the wealthiest in beauty- that human geld more valued than gold. She was taller, straighter. Her eye was clearer- hazel, gray or green-blue, depending on the light and which jewels she wore. Her hair was thicker- its color changeable, like her eyes. ranging from sable to roan to blond-gold. There was gold twill in her chemise.

The flowers along the bluff-top were dazzlingly abundant, sustained, it seemed, by the efforts of an absentee gardener, for they bobbed upon the breeze in greater number each league on, with each new meridian reached by the rising sun. Soon, she had an armful- quite a large bouquet. In it were pied cosmos, tawny lilies and wands bursting with yellow forsythia (it was May) . There were black irises, which are really very dark purple, long, blue gilly flowers and much, much dill. There were wild roses, petite sun-flowers and funereal acanthae. The gentian and pansies were too short-stemmed for the bouquet, so thoughtlessly, she stuck them in her hair, to be rid of them. There was so much to see- she was always falling behind, to her girlfriends' vexation, and when they turned 'round to find her, one of them cried 'oh'! What was that all about? , she wondered, and looked around, too, but saw nothing.

Then she remembered something and stopped- overwhelmed by a sense of good luck: today was her fifteenth birthday. Oh, happiness and regret, mixed! She felt very old- and one day closer to inevitable marriage. Horrid marriage! (This was before the invention of the convent) But, perhaps she was too old now to marry. Can you be too young for something one day and the next, too old? She hoped so, and good riddance, if so. She loathed the idea, but supposed she'd have to. Daddy said she had to. Ok. But, she preferred life in the palace with Daddy.

(cont)