she lies still in the meadows
staring fiercely up through nothing
with electric green eyes – curious, invading
she could kill someone with those eyes
and oh she is beautiful
a soft smile against the hard edges of her face
her delicate frame sinks into the lush grass
conforming to the firmness of the dirt
and she thinks she is nothing special
her beauty is inevitable and effortless
she holds composure, even in the meadows
when nobody is watching
but I know she will break like shattered glass
chips of lost love coating the ground
for she is a gypsy feather-footed and lost
the torn piece of her dress reminding her she is weak
fluttering awkwardly away like a broken winged butterfly
fearful, frightened
loneliness hangs, a veil covering her pain
I want to help her, want to pick her up and scream
force her to forget she is alone
and stand up to the earth again