I watch her ride
the Ring of Fire,
its hum in A-minor
a chorus
I did not hear until,
of course,
it was my own sweet girl
riding that perilous sphere.
At first I swell
with fear, and then
(a minor hymn to pain),
I think, Well, Life's
the Ring of Fire,
and its hers, not mine,
to reign.
Then find myself
quite joyful
when she wants to ride,
again.