Deep, deep in the bowls of the earth,
Nothing to hold on to,
Nothing but dirt
She came with her bright red-blonde hair.
Under the oak tree she
Looked, and she saw you lying in despair.
Bright, bright the dancing lights came,
They danced on the dirt and rays of hope
Sprang forward, like a fireworks show.
Touching the warmth of her hair
You saw a way up, and over the dirt.
It was a time of life.
copyright Denise A White