I am born

She was born with a poem on her lips, voice raw and lungs stretching, forming her first screams as she claimed the stage with her existence.

I am born.

A year later, her throat gurgled, struggling to form words to convey what child eyes could see in the purest form.

As she grew, she heard and listened, waiting with a patience a child her age should not have, and watched.

She'd grab the attention of anyone near to tell them her words that poured honey between her fingers, that pooled at their feet, crystallizing into diamonds that sparkles and reflected her soul that sings.

I Couldn't say she met no heartships along the way

She'd gather her thought, cultivated from experiences

From fields of flowers and clovers

And Meadows

As she transformed those experiences into poems which she spoke from her heart, earnest and honest, sharing her words that drips like honey, and those who taste of her words

Will forever remember

And say,

She was born with a poem on her lips, and sings it to this day.