she, yet unknown

no one really knows

who she was

many too may have forgotten

she was once

seen crawling the soil

on tiptoes, with leather boots

made of alligator skin

they thought her pathetic

but then

she stood smiling

with relics of the golden past

crumbling in her hands

a boy remembers her

flying the skies with wings

borrowed from a butterfly

while her own

rest on the stream

singing their morning lullaby

she is gone

now, her ashes have met

with the red lava that always burnt

her passion for the weeds

that stood in the way

of her blooming love

but

someone, somewhere

sometimes swear, she was

at the blue mountain

plowing thru the pebbles

of her deathless toil

there were rumors

of wild hearts growing more

atop the mountains

a few more

butterflies seen flying

without wings