by Pragya Neupane

Last fall,
I saw her in the meadow
stitching flowers-
colorful ones-
on her plainly white shirt,
Her hair neatly done
eyes filled with dreams up to the rim
smile tapering till ears
that could drive any passerby crazy,
She would take breaks at times
to fill her lungs with the crisp air
Dancing merrily down the hills,
she’d cup her little hands,
fill the flowing river into it
as much as she could
and drink it
to quench her thirst.
After that fall,
winter knocked her door
the flowers withered
into coarse futility
River froze to numb her hands
Cold tried best of its endeavors
to inculcate despair into her soul
Yet, I found her the next fall
in the same meadow
stitching colorful flowers
on her plain shirt
Her hair though,
open , untamed and,
frivolously held
Eyes still portraying dreams:
blurred but undaunted ones
Still smiling through tears,
she soaked into the cool breeze
frolicking down the hills
she filled herself with the river
more this time,
for her thirst had doubled
and her hands now formed a bigger cup.

That Girl