Her arms stretch wide, wider than the world
she understands so completely, understands
with eyes that see the play of love on a flower
delicate and gentle, lips that frame her fervent
laughter in dialog with the wind, oh how well
she knows each taste and touch of the world.
With ease she moves amid the day, among its
courtyards and porticoes, with a dancer's grace
she plays the minuets of shadowed birdsong,
and her voice awakens winter's thirst
her voice like ocean waves that trill and whisper.
How the earth reflects its joy within her eyes,
and with each touch of April makes more promises
that she forgets by May, forgiving every mistake
every thorn with a kiss, forgiving with her
childish bliss, forever dancing in that sunlight way,
my barefoot girl.
View User's Journal
Countless Thoughts have been Lost throughout the Ages to the minds of Madmen and breathless whispers of the Dead. Man has come a long way from the Age of Thoughtful Words and Script. This is my dedication to those who have been Lost along the way.
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