The roots drink deep of standard prose,
While from her crown a poem grows.
A symmetry of branch and bone,
In ink and silent paper stone.
She rests between the written lines,
Where quiet, wild nature twines.
A mind awake, a soul at peace,
Where words begin and wonders cease.
I'm sorry, forgot, those uploaded images did earlier, and prompts are lost...but there are some images here with the same prompt that I uploaded earlier...