Description
In shadowed hues her figure stands, Unknown, unnamed by sculptor's hands. Yet from her silence, petals rise, A bloom beneath unspoken skies.
No crown, no tale etched in her face, Still grace becomes her rooted place. The world may pass, unsure, unwise, But still she blossoms , still she tries.
A mystery dressed in softest light, She bears her fruit beyond the night. Though nameless, faceless, still she grows, A living trust the canvas knows.
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