Flowers

She has seventeen Springs

as she moves with the wind.

Flowers bloom in her lungs,

a petal rests on her tongue.

She looks to the world,

where she feels most at home;

pink skies and wispy grass,

dark hair with her brown eyes.

Room furnished with stacks of books

Her angelic, far-off look.

Adventure with each page,

where it too appears safe.

Be wary when she lingers,

For she’ll wrap you around her finger.

In a way that you will love,

because she will lift you above

all the bizarre things that go on

and you’ll be glad to come upon

what divine soul that helped you

grow a couple of flowers too.