I see her.



She pays me no heed, moving like the mist in her robes of blue and white.



My voice doesn't touch her, though it cracks from wear.

Pure and perfect, she walks on, feet bare.



I see the thorns around me, and the wind shrieks;

But she laughs like they're roses, without care.



Her robes are tearing, a little, and at times more;

And I see her bleed.

She walks, I follow.



Torn and tattered, shorn and shattered;

She's frail as the glass under her feet;

Her hair is white.

I cry for her pain.



The salty drops burn my skin, and I need no mirror

To see proof;

I know I am yet walking behind her.



Faster we move, strangely she gives me strength;

Perhaps it is only my curiosity.



The forest is gone now, not a thorn in sight.

The night has faded, song welcomes the cheery light.



I take my eyes off her broken form;

As broken as mine.



To glance in wonder, the change sublime.

I feel the sun, the grass under my feet;

The frost has been lifted, quite like a sheet.



I know that face, when she turns to me;

It is a face that I have seen, staring defiantly

Back from panes of silver that gleam.



Her laughter is clear, her hair like silk

The glow in her form, moonbeams in milk.



Pure and Perfect, she is once again.

She walks by me, rest from this game.

"Who are you?" I think, "Healing as a Spring day."

"I will be here," She speaks,

"The longer you allow me stay."

"For gratitude," I beg, "Tell me your name."



Ethereal and binding, warmth radiates;

Engulfing, lifting me, as a feather on air.

Burdens of kind, weighing me down, disappear.



A rush of cool air, a burst of song;

A smile on my lips.

She kept, she left me strong.



Hope.