You would not believe her beauty.

Hair crowned with the dew drops of yestermorning like living pearls.

Skin weighted by the shocking amount of humidity.

Yet she is free.

Death lays in the past unremembered.

Heated pressure of the summer not meant for her.

The way the wind runs through her dress grants her wings.

All is before and what lies behind is no matter.

Growth is hers to bestow,

And oh how she thrives.