The trees have stolen her light
and the grass is pulling her in deep,
and she itches in her skin uncomfortably
before asking me whether she is enough.

The sky is not canvas enough for her
and the ground is not truth enough to explain
but she awaits an answer with the North Wind
a-howling in her face, and so I say,

"Darling, the sun is too bright in your eyes
and the moon is tiring your skin
but the world is in your palms
and you are more than enough."

The End

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