She tugs at me,
with her constant jests,
trying to upturn
this frown on my face.
I sit in gloom
and wonder again
of what fragments
has she been made.
She is like
the heat of the sun
that comforts
a dreary cold morn.
She is the warmth
replaced of the
coldness of my heart,
the one we all want.
I watch her keen
as she smiles at me,
her lashes fluttering by,
a mischief of a
in them mirrors
a past long gone
and I just sit
letting out a sigh.
She hops and
skips and hug me
tight, free of
all the cares,
then she dances
amidst the crowd
that stands astound
and stares.
A spirit so free,
she revels in what
she speaks of
her momentary glee.
She touches me,
my hand, my fingers
gently, cascading her
untainted bliss to me.

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