Born on the first month
Twelve days at dawn.
Shows a tough front,
But gentle as a fawn.

She learns how to walk,
Stumbles but continue to run.
Learns the first word to talk,
But except for the word fun.

Hair as raven as the night,
Long, soft and strong.
It shines when poured in light,
Caressed by wind with a song.

Eyes with a color of a soil,
Her vision clouded in mist.
Nose that can scent even an oil,
Impossible scents seldom exists.

Ears that will always listen,
Every word, an every thought.
Skin color like the sun that has risen,
Warm and soft like a cloth.

Lips that marks a gentle smile,
A frown that can make you run.
A memory that can save every file,
But can forget the pain like the setting sun.

Before, names like ugly and keen,
That is what is given to the lassie.
Now, some says she looks like a beauty queen,
But find it hard to believe.

Quiet and coy,
She's living in an illusion.
Surrounding herself with books, dolls, and toys,
Her life is all in fiction.

She's all grown-up,
Something has changed.
But still like a pup,
that doesn't have any range.

Finding who she really is,
It is really difficult.
Is there something she missed?
Or there is something she must fix?