the wild lady with blood red fingernails lies calmly and watches the grass . . . sway with the wind her hair is long, and soft, and blonde and it shines the light of the setting sun . . . as it dances across her skin then the wind blows past and she wraps herself tighter in the warm embrace of her sweater the wild lady with a broken heart lies calmly and watches life . . . untouched, untainted, unbroken her mind is dancing from thought to thought and her heart is aching each beat . . . as it painfully longs for yesterday then the wind blows past and she breathes and her heart is filled with promise the wild lady with piercing eyes lies calmly and watches children . . . play in the park their smiles are so pure, so real, so true their innocence knows no bounds . . . and it tests them then the wind blows past and they shiver and laugh at their goosebumps the wild lady with newfound hope rises slowly from her bed . . . and laughs at the mark she created in the grass she recaptures some youth, some hope, some dream a part of her soul that she had lost . . . and she embraces it then the wind blows past and she smiles and thanks the children for rescuing her
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