A poem for Dana – the Rebel with a heart.

There’s a young maiden called Dana — with Latin origins like Santana, 
Who turns 18, on this very day!
She is shy to the bone — and happy to be alone, 
But if you called her, she’d say, “hey”
Walking by your side — with a confident stride,
She dances with music in her ears, 
A Donny Darko fan — she can easily be “the man”
And yet, butterflies will bring her to tears.
Yes, Zombies and Dracula — and anything spectacular, 
Will excite this 1997 child, 
And yet, puppies and bunnies — and all things sunny, 
Would easily bring her back from the wild. 
Like a pearl inside a clam — or a berry inside jam, 
Dana, is a sweet as one could be,
Hiding her goodness within — like silver within tin, 
One need only hug her to sense her qualities. 
With eyes dark and deep — a wolf camouflages a sheep, 
Her soul radiates with love, 
Wearing a beanie and tights — she’d show she’s ready to fight, 
While bearing an olive branch in the mouth of a dove.
Born on the 9th of November — “a day to remember”
The monkey god, Hanuman, did declare, 
Bearing a “mace” of virtue — and a crown of reddish hue, 
A radiant smile would match her blonde hair. 
Idealistic and strong — that nothing would go wrong, 
Rebellious independence was her calling card, 
But if you tickled her belly, she’d become like soft jelly, 
And sing like a royal court bard. 
Expressing a serious mood — she would sit and brood, 
Painstakingly, like a jury on trial, 
And yet, you knew she was fair — and not just in her hair, 
For her heart would walk a veritable mile. 
To show you her grace — and not her mighty mace, 
Like a mouse gently nibbles on grains,
Dana would hold your worried hand — and help you understand, 
That love was how to ease your pain.
This girl known as Dana — a gift of heavenly mana, 
A scorpion, X-files fan, born in the year of Ox, 
Is my sister-in-law — whom I very much adore, 
And whose nephew will be Bhimal Fox. 
Dana was born: 9 November, 1997

(c) 2015 Paul Rodney Turner

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