She still tends to laugh off the top of her head.
Goes to a place with a thousand or so flowers...far away from her world of angels.
Seldom shares her verse nor her child-like stories.
She is under no contract,
and all she really sells is her smile.

She thinks upon the days when she seemed overworked and was kept within a script of ripe passion.
The poisons she tasted are still flowing throughout her system,
yet she has grown wiser.
Like grandma Rose always said,
"Truly the honest things shall prevail."
And all there seem left are the flowers.

Grant her now a continuous Springtime.
She has nothing here to show you, and quite little to share.
She is bonded within this moment,
and the timeless memories are playing.
Within the valley she is sweetly at ease.

The place...a setting of freelance colors and solitude.
The fragrance...all that reveals the truth behind her purity.
The day...now calling and the old friend is waiting.
She shall now make her way...
back to tomorrow.