“To regret one’s own experiences is to arrest one’s own development. To deny one’s own experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one’s own life. It is no less than a denial of the soul.”
― Oscar Wilde, De Profundis 

This, her place of recovery,
This is where she began
Out of her depths 
Amharic text reminds us,
As we live beneath the sun,
She was a warrior,
An Amazon on the run..

When sky was black as gold,
She was dragged across the sunless sea
By men without a soul:
Her stories and narrations,
Her lives as yet untold
Lost in the stinking slave ship hold.

From the slave ships and from factories
Amidst this heat and freezing cold
We hear the triump of wizened men:
Men who've never seen the sun;
Nor wonders to behold.

Gobeen men these counters,
These misers of the heart,
Their fractured souls’ inheritance
Is to live their lives apart
From this Abyssinian maid
They swore was in her grave.

Such long and false forgetting,
Of moons and seas and sunne,
Is lifted by the light of night:
In the heart where songs begun
Of damsels rare and golden
Who sing beneath the sun.
As Coleridge once foretold
Her journey has begun. .