Flowers in Her Hair

She was born of mist and summertime,
Of longing, and of nectar and honey,
Of the worldly wonders that beckoned
Her toddler’s gaze
To golden horizons
That spread in front of her like her favourite bedtime story.
She was born of turquoise and topaz,
And she knew nothing of their worth
Only that they were of the Earth from which she came,
Emerged forth from like Venus,
Ready to tangle herself
In the lines etched on every map’s corner.
Her innocence and lasting grace
Painted life in her bare footprints
She placed in the grass
That marched forward into eternity,
Into unknown love and lust
And loss.
She treaded fingers over melodies
And learned how to tell stories
Of entire universes
Without saying a word,
Conversing only with fellow wanderlusts
And Flower Children.

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