I look at her face,
and for all I know
she could be 84.
But she looks the same as she did at 20.
There’s not a wrinkle, a line, a hair out of place.

Though her nights are sleepless
and her days without rest,
tirelessly, she circles the globe
with her gifts of change and a stuffed puppy doll.

She has a message, a request.
It's fuelled her existence
for half a century or more,
to defend those who cannot for themselves fight.

She speaks on their behalf.
She knows their thoughts
better than I know my own
though not a word have they uttered.
To her, their eyes, their actions speak loud enough.

Since the first day in Gombe
her soul has been preserved
in the sweet wine of conviction.
Her purpose known, she knows,
however grand, daunting or difficult
She has found the key to immortality,
and even in a life of giving,
this thing she cannot give away.

My first poem in 7 years.
Mandy Bliss