She sees the silk curtains like the ripples of a flowing river. The swarms of people roaring in child-like delight.
She sees the crowd as they saw the one they so adored.
She sees herself running her hands through the watery air.
She did not see the black burned hearts that rained the ground.
She did not see the ashes of poverty ruined lands
She saw people clothe her in the finest of finest.
She saw the gold she was given for her actions.
She saw the tables blanketed with the richest of delights.
She did not see the tattered souls.
She did not see the fires of hatred.
She did not she the war of hunger.
She will see the coated mirror of her once self
She will see the rain of the undying unity of peace
She will see the one gardens of falling cherry blooms and the melody of the harp of love
She will not see the cracking of dead nature.
She will not see the hurricanes of the terrible wars.
She will not see the plagues of divorce.
She never saw the churned fruits before her.