A sky full of thoughts.

Maiden with flaxen hair.

She pranced on the river side with hair in a braid. She had a smile that left people astounded. Picking flowers and singing songs of her sorrow, she pranced on the river side. She had fine lines of the colour red on her flaxen skin. Lines she hid under her ragged yet pure white clothes. Her eyes were hazel that showed cogent depair. Her striking features were covered by her harmonious persona. She could aptly be called a feather. She came in with the air and went with the breeze. She used her smile as a veil to cover her tears. It was a veil that she wiped and hid her tears in. She spent most of her time watching the clouds separate. A bit of the cloud detached, fading into the sky leaving the two clouds longing to feel each other, yet fated to never meet again. She sat on the branches of the trees and felt the wind blow her away. She sat on the patches of grass and pulled thin strands of them out until her fingers got numb. She grew up in the mountains, closer to the skies. She grew up meadows, closer to the ground. No one understood nature as much as her. She pranced on the river side with her hair in a braid. She was well known as the maiden with flaxen hair.