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Easter Sunday

She looks about ten,
Lost in her world.
So sweet and innocent.
Finally,
After weeks of preparation,
It is Easter Sunday,
And her family has gathered.
She strays to the yard,
Where she twirls and dances.
Green and pink satin
Flutter through the air.
Her hair is in pig tails,
And curled to perfection,
Silently bobbing and swaying to
Her rhythmic motions.
She spends the day
Searching for eggs,
Vibrant and fragile,
Then the rest of her time
Alone in a fairytale.
She is the queen,
And the eggs her gold.
Now bow before her majesty,
You silly peasants,
This Easter belongs to her.



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