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     Many years ago while my wife Serafina was on a visit to her native country of British Honduras, I received a letter that she had become sick and miscarried.  While it may've been twins, at the very least it's a child I've never seen or known.  Of the two possible genders, I've here imagined a daughter and called her
Dsire .

        
A Daughter to Me

A daughter to me,
       of birth I've naught, not one;    
A daughter to see,
       on earth, the blessing only of son...
 
Yet, even so
       as God created humans all,
He would know,
       if girl, in being, He once did call...
           
Thus, I still may meet,
        in the eternal realm, unfurl'd,
A daughter pretty and sweet,
        beyond this present world...
                                                       
                                                                     ―
John Riedell

      I imagined our lost child as girl and some years ago I wrote about it.    She's in her early twenties, which may be how people in heaven look, youthful in the full bloom of life. She is about 5 ft. 8 inches tall, with shoulder-length, dark hair.   Her green eyes are set in a well-shaped face with a small dimpled chin.  They're a shade of greenish turquoise, with a little brown coloration invading the verdant from the side.  One of her forebears had green eyes, a Confederate soldier, perhaps of Scottish descent and Louisiana residency. He was Serafina's great grandfather William Rhody who went south where he met an Indian woman from Ticul, Mexico, and they had a daughter named Emilia.

      With imagination I saw her looking something like this grandmother of Serafina's.  Her skin is smooth, of a delicate tan and her hands are slender with tapering fingers.   Had she lived, I can see the Indian women of the Yucatan with their dark eyes admiring this one who shared their native blood, as it seems they admired one of her brothers as we travelled through.

       In my musing of mind I see her happy and joyful, there sometimes casting an eye toward the gate, thinking of the day she'll see us, and ready to greet us with a rose, fragrant with a blush of dawn. I hope I will be deemed good enough to enter and see the daughter I never saw in this life: a young woman blent of Spanish and Indian blood...and aye, a lass, with a wee bit of Scottish.

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