Gentle is her hold,
Her fingers slightly pale and cold
As she rests them in a fold
When she peers outside.

Her mind, so vast and free;
Always searching inwardly,
She seems to wander endlessly
Through its vivid sights.

Flaxen hair and soft, blue eyes
Highlight a face too good to cry,
But still, I see you stiffly try
To cease how they shed.

A soul as pure as snow
Drifting to the ground below
From a sky that somehow knows
You're resting your head.