[pre]There the child stands,
her dress of lavender reaching only to scraped knees.
Cleome crowns her gold-brown hair, woven by the stems.
An assorted bouquet she clutches in both hands,
the sticky-sweet smell of nectar attracting insects aplenty.
She stares back at me with eyes a piercing blue,
rosebud lips curling as she lets out a giggle.
A tap on my shoulder makes me turn to inquire,
but no one stands behind me.
I turn again to ask the girl at what she laughed,
but she has disappeared.
Alone as she will ever be, as she does not exist.
A child with a perfect name, but for those damned eyes![/pre]
