Generational Mirrors

It's the ending of a tale; it's the beginning of one It's the rendering of a piece unsung It's the frayed passing of thrones From a grandmother's knackered spine To the mother's stubborn bones To the daughter's frisky footsteps Like a mare let loose in territory unknown On their souls is marked the sacrificial elf Scored firsthand from God Herself Cedar compassion sprouts from their fingertips and creeps along the gardens over which they stand sentinel, Raw instinct safeguarding them like tentacles At their cores, they're all one and the same A mother's rage was what they all had tasted And what they knew they couldn't tame Wretched mirrors of one another You are I and I you, one tells the other For it's the ending of a tale, and yet the beginning of one