The little boy was willing to try
to move more mountains in his tide
he flows the flowers with his fears and faults
as every little girl would want to.

He did not know what to do now,
yet he moves with such motivation
to get to going to go now
and be there with her thoughts.

She knows not what she speaks of
or why the old me cry
but move her to the mountains,
and might she be divine.

Her motions are so move-less
and her words would willow the bees
the  redness and her roughness
would bring men to their knees.