She walks beneath a quilted blue, in soft grasses.
She walks her feet still wet with dew, quietly she passes.
Still she stands awaiting a noise, but she finds none to be heard,
Trees stood still in quiet poise, not the flight of a bird.

Opaque became her breath that night, like milky smoke it flew,
U p high into the pale moonlight, her excitement grew and grew.
She sat upon the grass so clean, and pondered for a while.
A painting such would look serene, repelling all that's vile.

Her radiant pale skin reflects the moon, and all it's majesty.
An awaiting morn will wake not soon, for now the night will be.
Still she sits and breathes quiety, her cell became a glowing orb.
A gentle wind stirs yonder tree, yet she look not tword.

She tilts her head to one side, looking upward she did gaze.
Looking up with vacant eyes, two sheres amongs a haze.
As she peers into the dark, she takes in a breath of air.
Her heart at once it did lark, at what she had found there.

A navy night fades to royal blue, to beautiful to comprehend.
The stars they shined as if brand new, but of beauty not the end.
The moon it hung so quiet, in the nocturnal sky.
To touch it she would try it, when God gave her wings to fly.

Love in her heart for such flaring brightness, fondness of the skies.
Her heart filled with a heavy lightness, she captured the stars within her eyes.
This starry-eyed child closed her lids, to conceal such a light.
And within the dewey grass she hid, but through her lids shown bright.

In phospherecent glow, she lay beneath a willow tree
No one wondered, "where did they go?", for no one had seen them but she.
She had been alone that hour, no one knew of the grace found there,
No one else had gained such power, but the child with dew drops in her hair.

- Holly Rose Bishop

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