Fingertips

As she danced, with flowers in her hair,
bare feet twirling across the grass,
a song on her lips,
a tune in her throat,
she sings to the rising sun.
Arms open wide
the sun kisses her cheeks and accepts her warm salutation.
So she lies in the grass,
the blades tickling her face as her eyes rove the sky.
The clouds are her dreams and they change as she grows,
ever they are at her fingertips…yet just out of reach.