Her feet is stepping on the whitish fog
Underneath her, carpet of periwinkle graces the soil.
She is about to be lifted by this prodigious marvel.
Tulips and Forget-Me-Nots: hung-headed, astounds the damsel
Reaching her flimsy candle-like fingers
Stretches, prolongating her skin so alike to precious gems
She is in harmony with the meadow.
As colorful as the budding flowers, reflects by her eyes
Mosses of mountains, spotlighted by the sun.
She is flying, soaring on high, swiftly, she is free.
Free from the beauteous exquisite bowl of greens
Dainty couture, lavender, blue, sky-green, of pink dandelions and carnations
She is free: closes her eyes
Inhaled the sweetest breeze of strawberry fields, honeyed to taste
Exacerbates her breathing pattern
She never shiver, she is free. Freedom.
Her breath stops.
9th of May, 2012