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Copyright NoticeAll fiction and poetry are the y use of the works are prohibited without permission. However, sharing or linking of post is acceptable, and my heart's greatest desire, providing you create a link back to: http://debralecomptepoetry.blogspot.com
Thank you so much for coming to my page! Communication whether spoken, written, signed, or expressed in the art forms, is the essence of the human existence.

All fiction and poetry are the sole copyright Debra LeCompte. Any use of the works are prohibited without permission. However, sharing or linking of post is acceptable, and my heart's greatest desire, providing you create a link back to: http://debralecomptepoetry.blogspot.com
Thank you so much for coming to my page! Communication whether spoken, written, signed, or expressed in the art forms, is the essence of the human existence.

Monday, February 3, 2014

Young Women With Dark Eyes and Dark Hair



 One of my favorite poems is one of the first I wrote.  After I read a story about  several young Afghan women who had joined the Afghan National Army, and who were training to be pilots, I wanted to pay tribute to them.  What amazing courage and selfless service for their country, and all women of the Middle East, their service represents!  I know what opposition and threat by some, it will bring to their lives. With these words I hope I honor these young women as they stand in courage and strength. I offer my poem of tribute to the young pilots, and all the brave women of Afghanistan, who have endured much.




Young Women With Dark Eyes and Dark Hair

Who are these young women with dark eyes and dark hair,
With beauty that runs so deep, and courage rare?

Fr
om what cloth were they cut, and where was it woven?

Who was the Artist from whose mind the colors were chosen?

 Of what fiber is the cloth and thread made,
That forms their true hearts which when they were bade,

By whispers to their souls of service to their country and us all,
Without hesitation bid them answer that call?

The fibers from which those threads took shape,
Were grown by the people of their nation who do not hate.

The seeds were planted in the soil by their fathers.
Then the fibers were collected at harvest by their brothers.

The thread of hope was spun by the hands of their skilled mothers.
None gave heed to the threats of others.

Then they were woven by their sisters, whose lives will be forever changed,
By the steps that they take and the destiny they arrange.

Finally from the Artist's hand, priceless treasure, a gift from Afghanistan,
Came to the people of the world who desire only with honor to stand.

Their mark and place in history their names will take.
When their life's work is made for the peace that lies at stake.

Who are these young women with dark eyes and dark hair,
With beauty that runs so deep, and courage rare?



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