‘She was the Soil’: Hon de Castro pays tribute to late Parsons with poem
Hon de Castro noted that while she hadn’t written a poem for a very long time, poetry is her passion and gift, and she wanted to use that gift in tribute to the late Parsons.
She also said she heard Ms Parsons was a poet.
See poem in full below:
****************
She Was The Soil
-A Tribute to the Honourable Eileene L. Parsons, OBE By Honourable Sharie B. de Castro (AL)
She was the soil.
Not just of it — she was it.
Salt-skin, sun-stitched, root-deep and rain-fed —
A woman grown from the arch of these islands’ backs, Not merely moulded by the land,
But moulded with it — Braided into its culture, Carved into its history,
Burned into its memory like footprints in concrete.
She was audacity wrapped in elegance — A soft-spoken storm,
The kind that doesn’t tear down houses, But rebuilds nations.
She didn’t just break barriers.
She bent them until they remembered her name.
Eileene.
Miss Parsons. Miss P.
The Honourable. The Unmovable. The Unmistakable.
She walked where women were warned not to. Spoke when women were told not to.
Stood tall where men once stood alone. Not to compete — but to complete.
To contribute. To change. To claim.
She was more than Minister. She was mission.
Education wasn’t her portfolio — It was her passion.
She wore knowledge like a kente cloth, Passed it down in lessons and laughter, In syllabi and song,
In doctrine and dance,
In quiet conviction that a child with books Could become a nation with backbone.
She was culture’s compass, Tourism’s torch,
Sport’s spirit.
She was festival and freedom. BVI Heritage in full regalia.
She was the why behind the what. She was a mother of memory,
A matron of the arts, A steward of stories.
She didn’t just dance our dances — She dignified them.
Through dance, she lifted our culture. Through movement, she mirrored our might. She taught our hips to hold history,
Our feet to honour the fight.
She made our bodies remember — That we come from freedom,
That we descend from flame.
She was BVI Heritage in motion. Not just a keeper of culture —
A conductor of it.
She didn’t just perform heritage — She protected it.
She didn’t just chair the parade. She carried it.
She was a mother of the Virgin Islands— Not just in flesh, but in force.
She bore the weight of this Territory in her womb of will, Carried its culture in her spine,
Its children in her chest, Its future in her fingertips.
She birthed ideas before they had names, Pushed through pain to give this land breath. She mothered movements.
Midwifed meaning.
Held the crying of a country and rocked it into peace.
She didn’t just love the Virgin Islands — She laboured for the Virgin Islands.
She led the Virgin Islands.
She didn’t ask to be let in — She entered.
Not with noise — but with knowing. Not with anger — but with ancestry.
She was purpose with pulse.
She didn’t just open doors — she built the corridor. And I?
I walk in the hallway she carved. Not with ease — but with honour. Not by invitation — but insistence.
Because like her, I had to push past the pause, To claim the space not often offered.
Not because the door was open,
But because her footsteps dared me to try.
She was the ink and the index. The page and the publisher.
She didn’t wait for others to write the record — She authored it.
She spoke truth in a tongue carved by fire and faith. She was bold —
Not belligerent. She was proud — Not problematic.
And most importantly she was unapologetic!
She was not just from this place — She was this place.
And even when she left the chamber, She never left the cause.
So, what now, Virgin Islands?
Now —
We carry the weight.
We lift what she laid down — Not as a burden,
But as a birth right.
To her family —
the ones who knew her before the titles, before the tributes —
who felt the full gravity of her love
when the rest of us only caught glimpses in speeches and service — thank you.
You gave her to us — again and again —
when you could have held her close.
You lent us her laughter, her wisdom, her presence, even when it cost you time, even when it cost you rest.
She was so much to this Territory, but she was everything to you.
The root. The rhythm.
The unspoken answer to a thousand questions.
We honour you as we honour her.
Because behind every great woman
is a family who bore the weight of her greatness in quiet strength.
To the men — especially in these halls — This is not a woman's tale alone.
This is a story of leadership. Of courage.
Of nation-building.
Of what it looks like when we honour wisdom Not by who it comes from,
But by what it carries.
To the women —
You are not alone on this climb. She climbed first.
She made a way where none was given. And when they tried to silence her,
She made her silence speak louder than sound.
Let us not fight one another — Let us fortify one another.
Let us stand,
Not just on her shoulders — But beside one another, Firm.
Fearless. Free.
To the young —
The students, the seekers, the dreamers: Your inheritance is not just sunshine and sea. It is sacrifice.
It is strength.
It is stories like hers —
Of how one voice, unafraid, can change everything.
So, study hard.
Speak truth.
Show up.
And when your name is called — Answer with your whole chest.
The future is not far off. It’s in you now.
To the people — all our people: This Territory is more than land. It is living.
It breathes through us, From Jost to Anegada,
Yes — we are a melting pot. But melting doesn't mean losing. It means learning.
Lifting.
Loving.
And our culture — the one she carried — Is wide enough for all who walk in respect.
So let us use our voices not to divide, But to draw near.
To build bridges, not bonfires. To lead with dignity, not ego. To speak from truth, not tribe.
Because in the end — We are one soil.
So, when I say she’s gone, I do not mean vanished.
No.
I mean… Returned.
To the soil she once shaped. To the womb of the wind, To the hush of the hilltops, To the drumbeat of destiny.
Her life? A ledger of legacy.
Her name? A north star in the archives of our becoming.
And the soil she now returns to Still remembers her name.
She was the soil.
She was the standard.
She is the legacy.
Rest, Honourable Eileene Parsons. You’ve tilled the ground.
Now we will plant.
And one day —
May we bloom like you.
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
Follow Us On
12 Responses to “‘She was the Soil’: Hon de Castro pays tribute to late Parsons with poem”
Thank you ,Honourable deCastro!
fail to give people their flowers when they are alive and can smell them. Instead, we wait until they are dead. Dead noses smell no roses! LET'S DO BETTER.