I remember a small girl in a field of tall grass
with long hair and a tiny fistful of flowers.
Tiny fists that could hold the awe of the world
with a big heart, no burdens no cares.

No history of loss she walked alone.
She wandered the road meeting devils with songs.
Got left at the wayside holding her soul her
tiny flowers gone.

But found her way back, face pressed in the grass,
the familiar smell she had known
Of believing in flowers new to the ground,
embracing them with arms that had grown.