HER INNOCENCE

She walked like silence in the dew, The hue of the morning,

a silence of stars, Not knowing what the world could do— She bore her heart, unarmored through.

Her eyes, two wells of untold grace, Reflected skies no clouds could chase,

Untrained in guile, untouched by pain, Under the moonlight, she danced in the rain. She spoke in tones the larks could learn,

With wonder yet to feel the burn Of broken words or lovers' lies— She breathed in truth and sang the skies.

A ribbon tied, a braid undone, A smile that bloomed beneath the sun,

She thought the world as kind as she— No stranger yet to cruelty.

Her wandering spirit was watched by the forest, A wisp of light without a goal. She fed the deer, she named the streams, And built her life on quiet dreams.

She had no shame or desire for more, Her heart a softly open door. She trusted hands she'd never known, And never feared to stand alone. Her laughter rang like temple chimes, So lacking in time and weight—

though she’d lived in some pure place, Too far for sorrow to deface.

She wore her innocence not proud, Nor loud as saints who shun the crowd,

But like the earth wears morning frost— Unthinking of what might be lost.

The world would come, as it does all, To whisper doubt, to watch her fall.

But still I pray that winds may bend Around her like a faithful friend.

For something in her still remains, A light untainted by life’s stains.

Though time may dim and truths descend, She walks in white that will not end.

And if you pass her, let her be, Do not disturb her reverie.

For such pure hearts are seldom born— The kind that bloom before they’re torn. ---