When they greet her each morning
The clouds will always kiss the sky,
softly taint her with their love
grooming her for a beautiful day

But do they know that nothing they do
will ever hinder her from hiding her truth?

She can beckon the rain to pour gently,
even descend fiercely as a wild shower
release a luminous shock of white,
striking against her nakedness
accompanied by the bellowing thunders
the ones that cause even the strongest
to tremble as trepidation hugs their bones

-- when she finds it necessary--

Her actions are not contingent
upon the desires of those who
only want the easier side of her
To love her is to accept her wholly
and truthfully for everything she is