Her eyes are young, tangled forests floors, glued to the clouds above. Youthful of mind and spirit, where in life, those are the ones to shatter first. She puckers her lips at the passing cows, with reflections of cotton ball water vapor dressed around her head. She wraps herself in the stories. The stories she sees beyond her eyes, where cows can sing and pigs can fly. They bid her hello, and tip their hats when she waves at them with her tiny, baby hands. They are the protectors of the innocent, and the thin veil of naivety pulled over children's eyes. So all they can do is go along and dance with smiles hiding away a world of secrets All for a little girl in the backseat of a car.
