She is fragile as the morning dew melting in the warmth of a child's smile; stirring at the lonely, lovely waft of a butterfly's wings; tender as the… - L.R. Knost

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She is fragile as the morning dew
melting in the warmth of a child's smile;
stirring at the lonely, lovely waft
of a butterfly's wings;
tender as the curve
of a wildflower petal.
She is fierce as a summer storm
now raging against the fiery sky;
now raining tears to soothe
the sun-scorched earth.
She is soft as a midnight breeze
swaying to the sound of waves breaking
on distant shores;
whispering comfort to a world
steeped in the dark night of inhumanity.
She is brilliant as the rising Phoenix
lifting the suffering from the ashes;
her own suffering woven into wings of fire
in the long watches of the night.
She is serene and turbulent as the silvered water
hiding currents unknown beneath the gentle gaze
of a human who has walked a thousand miles and still has more to go.