I, Child [POETRY]

I beckon I; I, who is a child,

I, with doll eyes and a scheming mouth,

I, who bit the lonely rhymes of the heaving night,

I beckon I.

I, beckon I; I, who is kind,

I, without the storm-hail heaviness of heart,

I, whose veins crawled a flesh flush of light,

I beckon I.

I, without trepidation; I, except my aches,

I, without hesitation; I, slaving to the Fates.

I, unbound, uncast, unnamed,

I, whose pretty jewels claimed,

I beckon I.

And here, I am a child;

And still but a child; naught but a child;

Stronger still, I beckon I.