A poem written by my 17-year-old daughter, Florence, about her relationship with her sister.
“Death is the mother of beauty” *
‘It’s just a phase of every life’,
The adults like to say.
When offspring of a common pair
Begin to disobey.
They’ll row, they’ll feud, they’ll interfere,
By Cain and Abel’s lead.
For children – much less those of kin –
Are hardly all agreed.
Yet as the farmers grow to men
And shepherdesses age,
Their shared blood boilings turn to cold
And quarrels are upstaged.
For all begin to realize
Their own misguided ways:
Their twin or kin the enemy,
Instead of numbered days.
And though our mothers cannot make
The youthful battles cease,
The disciplines of beauty’s mother
Cause the sweet release.
*Wallace Stevens, “Sunday Morning”, 1915