ㅤ𝑇𝑟𝑢𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙. 𝐼𝑡𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑥𝑠. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑥𝑠 𝑥𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠.
Her love spread out like Branches, Reaching upwards to the sky. Giving shade throughout the summer, And a place to keep you dry. So all the citys children, Built a treehouse round her spine, And though they never asked her, She still told them she was fine, They etched their names with knives, Along the edges of her bone, A handwritten reminder, She was always theirs to own, Despite the pain they brought her, Upwards she still grew, Thinking if you love someone, Its the least that you can do, But as the kids turned into adults, And the winter air grew cold, She wept sap from their carvings, For they weighed too much to hold, And the men all thought her branches, Were to help their fires start, Put a chainsaw through her heart. She walked across the room, Raised a white shade, And opened the french doors to her garden. She plunged her elegant fingers into a blue hydrangea on the terrace, To see if it needed watering. No sooner had she lifted her hand out of the flowerpot than a bird landed on the stone balustrade that overlooked the garden. The tiny thing looked a bit wobbly among the flowers. Marvelous cascading laugh, Halfway between a tease and a call to joy.
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