She shimmers and she sings,
She is petite and she is beautiful.
Her bed is a little, squishy, moss-covered stone,
Her blanket is a rose petal.
She spends her days swimming in miniature puddles, left by April raindrops.
She explores the enigmatic shadows, hidden between pebbles.
Where flowers bloom, is where she has kissed the Earth.
She visits with the ladybugs and flutters with the butterflies,
She is gentle and she is whimsical.
She skips across newborn leaves and sails on pieces of worn, broken bark.
When rain falls, she seeks shelter under broad mushrooms,
And listens to the glorious rhythmic sound of the falling, translucent liquid.
She gets lost in her forest of grass,
Finds comfort in the safety of tulips.
She is an old friend, a vanished spirit.
She is a remnant of my childhood creativity.
She is the extraordinary essence,
She is a secret.