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So delicate with hair as fine as golden thread
lips of pure rose, parted slightly
eyes from the dream last night
frosted and clear.
Believe in the soft features of her lonely face
A robe of bright sun draped over her small shoulders
she wore no makeup,
flaunted no jewelry,
except for the one glassy pearl
hooked into the lobe of her milky white ear.
She did not imagine the life of an aristocrat
with elegance and taste.
The thoughts that filled her mind,
from the daylight of the first of spring
to the setting of the sun on the brusque fall day
-- a small wooden bridge,
vined with white and lavender wisteria.
leading her to the forbidden life of her “imagination”.
A small stream ran below, lily pads clustered in groups.
She walked into a pasture of colors.
soft breeze flowing to the beat of the twilight music.
In the distance-- soft rolling hills
sunlight at the tip
just making it over
lighting up the oaks as if they had a secret to share.
She spun, feeling the magic that accompanied her
floating around her, relaxing her
“Raise your voice,” it whispered.