By The Flowers

She is by  the flowers,  her song is in her  breath,  the poet plays  her harp,  music  tremors  in thoughts  as clouds rise before  her feet,  it has been  a while, since she truly felt  forever  as the  little dancer  in the rain,  the tremble  of leaves are the  wings  of birds in homes  of little worlds  where one would not  expect to  find it, there is a wonder  in the unexpected,    where butterflies are waltzing upon a place  of stars, a dance of  secret  conversations of love and  time in the  youthful hour of  calm