She, once silent and shy,
had a tongue so ever wried:
it was then I who even taught her.
She, quiet and watching,
had eyes that would be burning:
it was then I who gave her purpose.
She, cold and distant,
had a shell none could soften:
it was then I who melted the frost.
the child, now older, ungrateful,
now has words, an icy mouthful:
she has risen from that frosted ocean.
O but I, in my sacrifice and care,
have borne this blossom who even dares:
she names me now the poison