She’s the graceful dancer, smiling with her eyes,
and always, always moving in a beautiful way.
There seem to be bells around her ankles and stars at her fingertips
(but it’s just bangles and the wind in her hair as she cartwheels, and she brings the water flowing in wide rivers from Africa)
Dark purple flowers seem to be growing on her path,
and lush green moss on sturdy trees lining her way.
There are glossy beetles and singing cicadas following her steps
(maybe it’s just colourful fabrics and musical laughter, and she’s the calm before the storm in tall blades of grass on the riverbank)
In her hands and eyes blackberries might be growing,
ripe from summer sun and providing joy to children dancing in the autumn rain,
she’s rich fresh bread and the bittersweet fragrance of dark chocolate
(or perhaps it’s just giving her love to the hope of a better world, and she’s the woolen blanket to wintery souls)