She was born in the hush of winter’s white,

a breath of snow, a wisp of light.

Soft as moonbeams on my skin,

her laughter, golden, seeped within.

Her childhood bloomed in April’s green,

mud-kissed feet where dreams had been.

She spun in fields of yellow bright,

chasing the sun, drinking its light.

The summers burned in orange wild,

freckles dusted on my child.

Sticky fingers, peach-stained lips,

windswept hair in amber drips.

But autumn crept with crimson tides,

leaves fell fast, and so did time.

Her voice turned bold, a fiery hue,

she longed for skies of endless blue.

Now she stands in dusk’s embrace,

indigo shadows brush her face.

She hums of freedom, violet-sweet,

while I watch from earth-bound feet.

She sees a world in colors bright,

I see them fade to softer light.

But still, I paint her in my mind,

a masterpiece I leave behind.