A portrait of someone's child oblique with hesitation hides what she will be once her will takes form and molds the clay of her miniature body inversely matching the huge mind sponging without giving way  to what she has taken into her mind. 

The promise or premise of beauty somehow invented without being shared. Ensnared in the quiet mind with hushed tune of recognition oval as smoke overtaking beautifully its own scent against events arriving unexplained. 

This valley has no volley you must invent your own clay music to defray this much openness this much withoutness of the accustomed green occurring only here only in patches vow to include you in the narrative I divine after experience perspires its confidence in me as though I were a lark let go into the whispery trees.

Maturation's not a stunt until earned as a kick through the arms up goalposts at least that's how a public learns to think not prettily or in depth without boundaries but toward some agreed upon not-worth-the-effort plink perhaps you'll learn by rote is there any other way to defray the customary cost of braving breaking in and away.