To my daughter
When you were a child,
I offered you steppingstones to Shakespeare,
Handing you delicious words, like mints,
To melt upon your tongue.
The language did not take us straight to castles of the Bard
But along quiet paths twisting around enchanted forests
Through thick and leafy phrases.
You wore pajamas and smelled of innocence.
I held you close as ghosts whispered shadowy secrets.
We strolled straight through the looking glass together,
Collecting magic moments like small white doves
Which we could later pull from a hat and watch fly away.
Oh my dear, the lands we saw and the characters we met
Gave us stories like soft silk scarves
To slip from our sleeves when needed.
Each night we traveled our well-worn path
With laughter or terror or sadness until
Your eyes became heavy with sleep.
I took your small sweet hand and led you straight
To your safe sailboat of a bed.
Kissing you softly, I sent you off
To embark on a midsummer night's dream
Of "flights of angels singing you to your rest."*
*Hamlet, V, ii
Raynette Eitel still reads poetry, but now to her 5 grandchildren. She is a poet, writer and former teacher in Las Vegas, Nevada.