With all the passing years

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She stands tall, long red curls blowing in the ocean breeze,
The hem of a tiny white dress drags in the sand below her feet.
She clutches an old wooden oar in her tiny pink hand.
Her sunhat was spun from golden kisses, her smile is soft and tender.
She walks towards the river making her very first steps, and climbs into the tiny rowboat that awaits her.
Dipping her oar into the crystal water, she sets off on her journey.
She stops her boat in the harbor of dreams, scooping wishes and thoughts from the water in a little red bucket.
She grows older with every dip of her oar.
Forks of jealous lightning pierce the jet black sky, and angry waves send her little boat high into the air.
Yet she cherishes every moment of life.
Raindrops tainted black with ashes fill her tiny vessel, but she keeps up the fight, until a smiling rainbow arches her deep blue sky.
As hard times come her way, she rows her boat up into a meadow, picking flowers of strength, and will.
At the end of the day, she thanks her parents for building her boat, and carving her oar.
She sleeps, with her head on a pillow of memories





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