To all who see, a face she shows thee,
the reflection of inner she once told me-
of milk and roses and garlands and glee...
just a reflection of inner she once told me-
then skipped away to chase and play with the
small and the furry in the light of the day.
But alone in the corner, diary open wide,
alone in the corner she sat and she cried;
written with ink and signed with tears
the pages lay heavy with confessions and years;
joy and sorrow in her memory interplay,
but at night it's the sadness that carries her away.
Two eyes, two ears, a nose and a mouth,
a head and some hair- some north, some south-
two legs, two arms, two hands and two feet,
and skin with the sun as red as a beet-
and velvety skin as red as a beet...
As human as anyone,
she was to me,
as human as anyone could possibly be.
Sitting in the shadows recessed in her mind,
convictions of isolation, of lack of her kind,
but out in the world though scarce and though few
are those of alike, of good and of true-
we know of the milk and roses and garlands and glee,
we know how much more there is to see.
We'll come and we'll play, with her, in the fields,
and together, as friends, we'll let down our shields-
we'll laugh and we'll kiss and we'll love and we'll lay
together in the fields... we'll frolic and play,
forever in the fields we'll frolic and play.