That’s her.
That is her.
Time doesn’t spoil the spirit.
It cracks the cocoon
That is her body open.
That’s her.
That is her.
The wind won’t break her wings
That have laughed
and cried for flying.
She does not shrink from rake or plow
Or the harvest that is her bounty.
She casts her net under marbled moon
Into a sea of hope and longing.
