~

nasin cand' as prantas nasen,

no mes das froles nasin,

nunh' alborada mainiña,

nun' alborada d' abril.

I was born at the birth of blossoms,

born when all the gardens grew,

on so very soft a morning,

on a morning April-blue.

Rosalia de Castro

~

they say it was the darkest of all nights

moonless, starless, the quietest of all

until the void was broken by a squall

while all the rest raised sparkly glass delights

i came, it's true, before the twelfth bell chimed

the year's last day, one sharp strike shy, before

the bubbly, from the chill, was raised to pour

the 'til' of auld lang syne yet sung, well-timed

a midnight child, born dark of eyes and hair

as one year passed into another, last

remnant of a spring fancy, nine month's past

to be swatted on a bottom, très bare 

to what end, meaning, i've long since pondered,

for whom to please, obey, become, delight

what claim to make of midnight child's birthright

that o'er the spanning years i've oft' squandered

countless word i've written, cast out, in plea

that my raison d'être be heard by one

the one is you, sweet aural blessing done

sung by whispered voice across time and sea

~