Ivory withered feathers
tickled the tiny tips of her fingers.
Golden grains of food they craved
holding on to each crumb as time lingers.
These golden crumbs sputtered
on the front of her lime green frock.
Her innocent presence praised
by these soft, winged flock.
Mint mosses dusted against her bare feet
no longer afraid of these fledgling friends.
Soaring beaks nibble at her champagne curls,
admiring this angel of all child-like gems.