Air at home beneath whispering wings,
each stroke an evanescent expression,
each stroke a defiance of fate
or fate itself on weightless endurance.
She is floating in beauty.
Where not wasteful motion sways
peaceful being of quiet grace
and gentle kisses for a Mother
smiling brightly Her delicate colors
on the restful shoulders of the day,
lifting meaning to all there is.
She is hovering in beauty.
Stirring pigments of imagination
to run calm and wild concurrently
as each delicate brush through near sky
tickles the softly parting mist.
She is effortless in beauty.