As you grow, you will need new shoes often,
and I would give you otherthings to stand on that are handsome and useful
and fit you well,
that are not all plastic,
that are real and knowable and leatherhard,
things that will move with you and breathe rain or air,
and wear well in all weather.

For beauty, I would buy a gem for you from the earth's heart
and a ring that is gold clear through
and clothes the colors of flowers.
I would cultivate in you a gentle spirit,
and curiosity,
and wonder in your eyes.
For use,
in your house I'd hang doors that are solid wood
without hidden panels of air,
set in walls built on brick more than one inch thick.
On your floors I'd stretch fleeces from black shee's backs
and for your sleep, sheets spun from fibers that grew, once,
on the flanks of the fields.
I'd mount for you on small,
clean mirror for a grinning glimpse of windows to the world,
with sashes and open hard,
but once lifted,
let in breath of pure sun,
the smell of day,
a taste of wold wind,
an earful of green music.

Now and always,
you will need to be nourished.
For your mind-poems and plays,
and words on the pages of thousands of books:
Beuteronomy, Dante and Donne,
Hosea and Hopkins,
L'Engle and Lewis.
For your spirit, mysteries and praise, sureties and prayer.
For your teeth and tongue,
real bread the color of grain at a feast,
baked and broken fresh each day,
apricots and raisins
cheese and olive oil and honey that live bees have brought from the orchard.
For drink I'd pour you wine that remembers
sun and shadow on the hillside where it grew,
and spring water wet enough to slake your forever thirst.

As you grow, the air around you
will be full of calls and strange directions.
Choices pulling at you and confusion of dreams.
And I would show you a true compass and how to use it,
and sun steady in its orbit and a way
through the woods by a path that will not peter out.

Soon you will know well the sound of love's voice
and you have, already, hands,
and a heart and a mouth that will answer.
And I would learn with you more
of how love gives and receives,
both, with both palms open.
I am standing here,
far enough away for you to stretch and breathe,
close enough to shield you from some of the chill
and to tell you of a comfort that is stronger,
more real,
that will come closer still.

- Luci Shaw