Little girl, eight years old.
Her long blonde curls cascade around her shoulders,
Her blue eyes captivate any onlookers.
The picture of beauty, innocence and light.
She doesn’t have a care in the world.
Laughing, she races through the meadow.
Her voice is a song,
Her steps, a dance.
The gentle wind sways the tall grass back and forth.
Butterflies flutter through the air,
The flowers soak up the sun.
It’s the picture of beauty, peace, and light.
Alongside runs a river.
Swiftly, it races by.
From afar it’s a babble,
But up close it’s a roar.
To so many it is frightening,
An unpredictable picture breaking all serenity.
But to the little girl,
A picture of beauty, sureness, and strength.
Then winter comes, the little girl has vanished.
The grass withers, and the flowers fade.
What was once the site of captivating beauty,
Is now the site of nothingness.
But look closely, what can eyes behold.
The sun still shines,
The birds still sing.
Once seen as desolate, is indeed a place of life.
For in the nothing, there emerges beauty.
In the unpredictability, there emerges light.
No matter the season, the bird still sings,
A beautiful song of tranquility.
The little girl, she will return.
Growing older,
But still alive.
The picture of beauty, innocence, and light.
