Amyst

Don't cry, someone might hear

Amyst
She stands in the middle of an open field like the first star in the sky
Her eyes sparkle with the sight of dandelions
She bows to pick them, and it starts to rain, the petals start to wither
The yellow turns to white, and blows away in the wind
Their life pours out into her hands, a dark forest grows around her
She spins in circles trying to find a way out
The native faces stare back at her, as they come close with shining eyes
She wants to say those words they want to hear
But her tears won't let her say things, won't let her speak
She hides her eyes hoping this is a dream
But the ground breaks open and she falls in
She falls and grows wings.
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