I hear the child ask me who she be and where she come from
Child, my pekin,’ close your eyes and I will take you…
See your hands, your fingers even, with the rings of mama on each
See your feet, with diamond inlets in leather slippers crafted by your daddy’s courts
See your hair, woven with chief beads chosen by the elders
And your playthings are the same knife won tribal battles over a hundred generations
See your skin, first kissed by the Son, yes indeed the Creator
See your eyes, warm brown to adorn the light in your soul
See your smile, clever and wise, melting hearts yet deceiving none
See your home, rich with every fine, useful, and lovely thing,
Which provides today to every nations
And your clothes… Young Warrior, Chosen Child… your clothes…Can you see them?
You are a princess, a prince, royalty at best, in the image of God
When next you are lied to in this foreign and peculiar land
When next you are made to feel small by a world that envies your magic, your crown,
Close your eyes, hold my hand, and see the Truth.