I'm the author of this book…yes, I do make up worlds in my head to escape the present especially when the present is boring! Back to the book……it's a book about a young woman born on a cold night of 1756. Alone she wailed to the world for a good Samaritan to save her from the freezing hands of her dead mother. Help did come but the damage done was more than skin deep…she knew she didn't belong in the Samaritan's home…she knew something was missing. The stories didn't add up…and she could open up to anyone about it. But nevertheless, she grew in to a beautiful dove with brown doe eyes. A quiet sort with a dark and twisted past. Over the years of her childhood she had stood up for herself. The foster family was nice but it was temporary so she never bothered them with the puzzles of life.
By seven, she had grown nipples.
By nine, she lost her first blood.
By eleven, she understood nakedness.
No one around her understood her innocence. They mistook her control for stubbornness, her few words for disrespect. On that account she was forced by the head of house. Her cries fell on deaf ears. Again alone she ran off in to the world with a child in her tiny womb. Through thick and thin she toiled, earning a cent or two from sweating blood. Alone she faced the daggers of labor to a still birth. Quietly, she cried for the child she had learned to love but life goes on. Neither revenge nor hate crossed her heart. Instead, she turned to the convent seeking absolution in servitude but her happiness was short lived. The war came and it took down all that she had acquired.
By eighteen, she was a slave.
I am still thinking about an ending…oh, by the way it's not a romantic story :)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem