As we look from the heavens we can see her.
The youthful woman.
We see her there on a hill surrounded by all she loves.
She lay there.
Her hands over her belly.
Her eyes closed.
Her body motionless.
The wind blows the flower petals around and over her.
The grass tender and green shall become her bed.
The branches of strong brown bark and the white and pink petals of blossoms watch over her.
The gentle breeze caresses her ever so lovingly.
Can she feel it?
Can she smell it?
Can she hear it?
Are her senses here or gone?
Where is she the woman that is loved by all and loved the all?
Her velvet Irish green dress stays so untouched.
Her bare naked feet free from tight holds of an outer shell.
Her fair skin looks so delicate to be touch.
Her hair free from ties and yet stays so motionless even in the winds.
She seems a porcelain doll, yet so life like.
There she lay.
Not an inch of movement to her.
So peacefully she can lay.
The youthful Irish maiden.
Yes, this youthful Irish maiden.
There she lay.