Nature followed her footprints,
Planting seeds in the sand
With every forward land,
Blooming trees to the moon.

Wind would whistle between
The curls of her bronzite hair,
Setting a crown of flowers upon her head,
Hues of violets and blues.

No matter how much strength
She placed in the land,
There was only so much she could do
To brace the incoming doom.

Her eyes as forests
Would get torn down one by one,
Leaving nothing but rabbit holes
In the tracks that were left.

Generations would soon come to see,
The everlasting beauty of her earth.
In what was worth protecting.
What was left for recovering
before her last breath.