I read the stories about the brave young Queen who defied a custom she had married into for a people she had married out of. I could almost smell the oils and perfumes they clothed her with. Her jewels sparkled around her head. Her mane sometimes pinned up; sometimes let down or in braids. She was fiery. Sure. Brave.
I met a young girl with eyes whose spark and curiosity matched mine. Even when she was not around I could almost smell the grace and favor He clothes her with. Her creativity adorns her head. Her mane, sometimes pinned up, other times down in voluminous strands or in braids.
She is fiery. Sure. Brave.
Her queendom is built on music and candor. Her laughter is heart-warming and spirit-lifting. She thrives in foreign customs; she never forgets her people’s songs.
Ever growing for such times as these: gracefully defiant, faithfully blooming.
-Yelling love her way