I arrived there today early,
the dew on the ground had not yet dried,
and the roses she had planted were beginning to show buds,
a beautiful sign that life was turning
into a blossom for her,
she saw the token I wore around my neck,
the token she had given me,
to feel her every pain, sorrow, and heartache,
she was a spitting image of myself,
a perfect figure of a porcelian doll,
her face shined so,
like it was etched of glass,
she had a glow to her that I hadn't seen in a long time,
after all she was a living image of my youth,
the small child left on the road,
dumped on the streets where strangers lurked,
thats why I found her a beautiful garden,
because she was not road-wise,
she was young, innocent, and delicate,
a portrait of my very youth,
and she so desperately needed a safe retreat,
she belonged to me and I to her,
I saw her today, as the dew dried,
placing wildflowers in her hair,
and she held her head high,
because that morning angel,
that had given her food, the day before,
had found her a place to live,
her heart was singing,
I could actually hear the music,
a sweet lovely lullaby,
where the willow blows in the warm breeze,
and the white picket fence, held the heart of the wildflowers fragrance,
she was there,
a portrait in the sonnet,
where solitude heartaches should of been,
she was holding the toad,
her little Prince,
the very one that sat under the bench on which she slept,
something small that meant so much to her,
it was all that she really had,
besides the clothes on her back,
her long brunette hair she had pushed away from her eyes,
and her face was a lovely as a new bloomed lily,
then a man entered,
the morning angel, who had fed her the day before,
who knew the roads well,
the streets are very frightening,
to a child,
but this was now her journey,
and I watched,
he took her, I saw her smile,
where was she heading,
as he lead her from the meadow, past the willow,
down the path where the white picket fence,
had draped the wildflowers,
she was headed to a new beginning,
a small apartment,
where she began her journey,
to finish her last years of high school,
I hold the token she gave me,
with pride as I look back at her,
after-all she is a reflection of my yesterday youth,
the child on the long lonely dark road,
the very one that once felt like giving up,
the one I cradled in my arms,
as she watched the mother bird build a nest out of twigs,
I know her well,
she belongs to me,
and today, she is starting life again,
away from the meadow,
where the willow shaded her every pain,
and the wildflowers danced,
and the white picket fence kept her safe,
where the small toad is left to tend the garden,
and the dew had dried,
I saw her today, and she was beautiful!

Written by: Valerie Pearson
copyright2003ValeriePearson