She rides a painted pony
Over rolling grassland hills.
She walks a shaded woodland path,
And listens to the wind whispering.
Sometimes she stops to breathe the scent
Of a fragrant upland meadow,
Or drinks to quench her thirst
From a rushing mountain stream.
She uses the images in her young mind
To take her far away
From the filthy city her parents have taken her
While fleeing the ravages of war.
She travels from there often,
In the quiet of her mind,
And gives her youthful spirit a chance
To grow into something beautiful,
Just like in her dreams.