The soft innocence of nature rests in my arms, oblivious of what else happens around her. Occasionally she opens her large and what looks now to be eyes of the lighter hue, which those that have dealt with similar, know shall change with time. Often the gentlest of smiles quiver across her pouted upper lip, the shut eyes bringing expression through the brows and the settling down to that dream she must dream. Her head covered in the littlest of head gear she will ever adorn, snuggles into her mini quilt of varied colors dominated by the pink softness of its material.
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