She sat on a bench

with her hair up all french,

but some strands escaped the style.

They framed her face,

and she stood up with grace

as she began to pace the garden.

In the book that she held

she so often dwelled

on a chapter filled with romance.

She sat back and gazed

at the sky in a daze

as she set her book down beside her.

When she grew bored of the sky

she would often go lie

in the fields of flowers surrounding her.

She adored the appeal,

and would often times squeal

as she discovered the feel of the flowers.

She'd release her hair,

and move with the air

as she twirled amidst the wildflowers.

Then she would sit

and often just knit,

there, within the flowers.

Her spirit was free

and all would agree,

but then, there was The Calamity.

- Ceilo: gardener