The white is mixed form the color of clouds and hope.
Her skin is fair and covered in the images of dreams.
The glow from behind her is golden mixed with harmony.
Her hair, a pale blonde is long, curly, holding pain in each strand.
I see her somedays, on playgrounds,
walking between houses, at the busy intersection.
I see her sitting in the clouds.
She can be my friend.
Every tiny cotton thread of her dress is made of souls, golden
She is earth, heaven, harmony.
She is peace, balance, freedom.
She is a collector of souls,
dreams, desires, memories.
B
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