A white picket fence encased her,
she was my reflection, of a sad lost youth,
I have seen her here once before, this sweet child,
on the bench, where the wildflowers tower,
over the meadow gate,
she was one of the lost ones,
the young angel, in tormol,
waiting for the heart of the meadow,
to open entity flames of light, to shine thru day,
her eyes, oh, I have seen them, too,
dusted with rain weeping tears,
dreaming of a better turn, in this treacherous world,
while the sway of the willow hovered over,
her hands small, tiny, free, and helpless,
I have watched them, yearning for anew,
had the shadow of her dance, not whispered,
I probably never would of found her,
but her reflection was that of mine,
she was me, young and deserted,
a part of my yesteryear pain,
come, my sweet child,
that was the words she longed to hear,
but her head hung low,
hoping this time would pass,
I will help you,
for life should be a breath of love,
and only love,
your head, should never hang low,
you are the trellis, of the Lords hands,
and she swept her long brunette hair away from her wet eyes,
those tiny sprinkles told so much,
she had returned to soothe, that lost childhood,
in which was taken,
she was so very young,
she is my yesterday,
a part of grief I have yet to speak of,
I must heal her sorrows,
she belongs to me,
her name etches the same signature as mine,
and she sits in the meadow,
on the bench where the willow hovers over,
my lost child, within my heart!

Written by: Valerie Pearson
copyright2003ValeriePearson