⠀⠀
⠀⠀she walks in tinctures of dawn, ⠀⠀
⠀⠀petal-stitched and sun-sipped, ⠀⠀
⠀⠀a sylvan hymn in silk ribbons. ⠀⠀
⠀⠀hibiscus dreams crown her
tresses, ⠀⠀
⠀⠀and laughter—ripe with marigold— ⠀⠀
⠀⠀spills like nectar from her lips. ⠀⠀
⠀⠀she is prismatic, not loud, ⠀⠀
⠀⠀just full of bloom, ⠀⠀
⠀⠀in the way the wild loves quietly. ⠀⠀
⠀⠀
⠀⠀she walks in tinctures of dawn, ⠀⠀
⠀⠀petal-stitched and sun-sipped, ⠀⠀
⠀⠀a sylvan hymn in silk ribbons. ⠀⠀
⠀⠀hibiscus dreams crown her
tresses, ⠀⠀
⠀⠀and laughter—ripe with marigold— ⠀⠀
⠀⠀spills like nectar from her lips. ⠀⠀
⠀⠀she is prismatic, not loud, ⠀⠀
⠀⠀just full of bloom, ⠀⠀
⠀⠀in the way the wild loves quietly. ⠀⠀
⠀⠀