What She Sees

He does not see what she sees.
The veins which run through bodies
Like veins in leaves.
Connected to overwhelming beauty and grace.
As wind blows through, it moves her hair
And branches move against the glass,
Sifting through every crease and crack in wooden walls.
Surrounding such delicate breathe
Calming to another ear
But not to her own.
It pulsates and steams forward
As does a train thrusting forward into motion.
To be met with such a presence
Must leave the weakest heart full.
Exalting even the smallest forms of life
Into great beasts prepared for the greatest of battles.

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