She's a garden of gentle strength,
raised from rose gardens,
raised from fields.
She mutters soft words that move mountains
and hums songs that mold hearts.
She's a girl that cannot be held for too long,
who changes the world with a kiss,
with a stare.
How can she, peppered with scars,
followed by night, be so warm?
And perhaps her skin isn't soft for what would that do in war?
And her nails are clipped short
But she has never frozen, never ran cold in her hot veins.
A girl from wisdom, feet planted in the dirt:
dainty, soft; powerful, strong.