The Innocent
She walks slowly through the tall grass
Plucking wildflowers into her smooth hands
A daisy chain bouquet of bright colors
her bare feet are deliberately placed
She's walked this way before
The chapel bells rang, and she can hear them miles away
She lets the grass slice small cuts into her legs
her dress soon fills with seeds clinging to the fabric
She refuses to look behind her
Preferring the horizon ahead
She is pure as she moves, in liquid grace
To see her is to believe in angels
and to know her is to be given the key to heaven
The burden os responsibility.
Soon, she'll walk out of the feild
her bare feet will scrape along a forest floor
she can feel the worms and bugs climn along her toes
There's a mission somewhere here
She smiles at the scent of spruce pines
they grow like bamboo and by next year
she'll have a Christmas tree.
The thought smiles for the innocent.
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