She was fragile and immature,
Wildness and curiosity had she befriended,
Everything from pin to portrait interested her,
There was something in her eyes,
That none could have apprehended.
Her heart was a garden,
With walls very high,
So what if she survives on four wheels,
What if she can’t swing to the rhythms,
She is beautiful, not for the ephemeral looks,
But for the way she thinks, for the way she is,
A beauty untold, a beauty from within.