She speaks to me with a voice of harps at a glow. Its soft subtle melody showering me with silver coins. Kindness and understanding is all she seeks, yet no one can see. Blinded are those with booming loudness. Her tranquil thoughts may not always prevail against the rain of harshness. Those may consider her harps as a sign of weakness. Torment to be heard turns to sadness which can never be displayed. The Boomers raise their voice so thunderous to only display arrogance.
Her flight continues in the silver Heavens with every stroke a moments passing. Her beauty travels through out all the madness. Rays of white does her lovely feathers leave for all to see in the morning light.
With diamonds playing in the evening light she glances down heading for a moments dive. With fingers tickling at her powder fluff she lands upon the pool of lights. Dimples cry out with glee for she has landed so gracefully. She tucks her gentle head in and listens to the singing weeds.
For those that seek, one need not be big and strong, nor we need to be high in stature. A gentle heart only seeks communion with all.
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