She shells herself amongst the leaves and trees from the life of a dangerous past.
There is not a worry for the caterpillar of the forest, for she shall become once again, anew.

What a beauty and a wonder,
Let not the mind be torn asunder.
Such a grand spark, so true,
Potential infinite, a thousand through.

Let not the past of burden bring thee down,
Lest thee be an eternal, fateless frown.
Thou hast begun the steps anew,
Continue ye journey, through on through.

Thou shalt emerge from thine hardened shell,
Strengthen on from the past of hell.
Thou shalt emerge with wondrous wings,
Sharp and crisp, she sings and sings.

A voice so high and yet so clear,
A strength unbeaten to petty fear.

The past has become a faint whisper in the wind. The pain has become no more than an insignificant itch that fades away into the night, like a silent owl departing the midnight forest with swift and deft wings.

Only the future awaits ahead, she shall grasp it strong and grasp it true.
Becoming forever entwined in all that’s new.

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