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