| A creature of the open skies, that? |
| s what she wants to be.
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| Unhampered like the waves and grass
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| that are weaving rhythmically.
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| And speaking through her skin she does
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| the language of the leaves,
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| and tripping by the water? |
| s edge like Huckleberry Finn,
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| seeking her reflection, yes then seeking it again.
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| And looking like the flowers do, that is with no sense of sin.
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| But as a woman who looks like timelessness, her I don’t recall.
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| But as a lover who just took me now, this one, I do know best of all.
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| A child spoken for no one and always full of needs
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| expecting full attention just to show that she can please.
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| She? |
| s a broken promise keeper, wanting so bad to believe
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| in something that would need her much, that could lead her fearlessly.
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| Even if it were a prison dark, she? |
| d give away the keys
|
| it if simply took her by the hand and promised not to leave.
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| A lover with an open mind that speaks of love so free
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| believing it a rightful thing to be taken openly,
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| all except for the lover who? |
| s in her eyes
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| whom she guards most jealously,
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| but always keeping careful distances and happy just as long.
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| She? |
| s waiting for the moment when she knows her time has come
|
| then she? |
| s patient like a snowflake that? |
| s falling to the sun. |