She was
Walking
The trails of the forest
Whilst gazing inbetween
Its stems.

A young woman
Her eyes as deep
As the color blue can be.

Covered
By few strands of golden blond curls.
Neither pearls nor snow
Can be compared
To the white shade of her skin
From top
To down low.

She sat down
Took a notepad
Out of her bag
Followed by her
Precious pink pen.

'Home' she noted
'Is not always
Ones happy place'.

'A mother and its child
Are like the tree
I see in front of...