She was beautiful.
So beautiful, you’d call her nature.
Her hair was full of green.
When the sun peeked behind clouds,
colorful blossoms bloomed within her hair.
The soft gown of moss cascaded down her body
and hugged her curves tightly.
Animals would burrow within her.
She was a home to many.
Then the beauty would fade as the cold came.
Her once green and pink blossoms
turned brown and dead.
Her body dried out,
her hair fell out.
Her once perfect glow is now grey.
She was so fragile and cold.
The white pillows took over her beauty.
No one noticed her,
but the way snow sparkles around her,
the delicate, enchanting snow.
Who could pay attention to her?
Yet though she is dead,
her voice remains.
She still sings.
Her lullabies serenade
the warm slumber of the creatures in her,
the beautiful voice of the wind blowing through her arms.
She is proof that death can be beautiful.
The cold has ceased at last;
her colorful life floods back.
Then the cycle begins again.
when the warmth comes back,
when the creatures stir out of their hibernation,
when they enter back into the bright enchanting light of spring,
they wait for her life to come back to life.
Then comes summer,
The color of her dark skin never came back to warm colors,
her moss gown never,
her hair never grew back.
She was gone
"This piece I wrote for my love of nature. By putting a tree in the perspective of a beautiful woman, I compared and contrasted the beauty of nature." - Zaria Agboglo, 12th grade, Atlantic High School. The editors loved this poem for the nature imagery and the language used, and we even picked a line from the poem to be the title of this year's issue.