The morning sky is as soft, tender and pink
as the cherry blossoms beginning to bloom,
the first of spring.
Riding on her new bike. A simple, pretty dress.
Will he see her? Will she smile for him, passing?
Will it be love?
She stops on the boardwalk, looks to the waves.
The beach is so quiet, so sacred, in the first light.
The war is over. The war is over.
She is free.