In her mother’s womb she wrestled.
Her bag of waters made
Of hearty fibers, almost
In a mermaid’s purse, she’s born.
Black hair is spiked, blue eyes are wide,
Mama could barely hold
In her delight at this new child,
Not fraught with any frailty.
With powers so full since that first day,
A little ox, with beauty
Out and inside charm, infectious
Charm and devilish laugh.
A will un-bent by outside things.
Alarming sobs when things
Aren’t right. Big roars to match in any
Fight, she crawls and grabs
And pulls down loot from tables, tubs.