her eyes.

her eyes are a field of gold filled with clover.

they are the brush left behind by a fire.

they are the leaves ripped apart by children's greedy fingers.

they are the pumpkins at the bottom of the pile hiding from the undeserving world.

they are a glimpse of sea glass on a black sand beach.

they are the rocks skipped across a lake.

they are inconsequential to all but me.

to me they are the world.