Spring through a transition

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I narrate a story,
Of a girl who bathes in glory.
Paving her way through the dunes,
She loves things that are in tune.

Breaking out every day,
She feels a need to sing
An unsung song,
Lyrics in a jumble and alphabets flown,

On the top of her lungs,
As the globe around her hums,
She gathers herself, insight and wisdom,
Sketching the roots from which they stem.

Straining her eyes, she wonders why
The flora seems so dry,
And the objects so shrunken,
A delusion and no more, she refutes it to be heaven.

A slight tilt of the chin,
Is the closest that she comes to being grim.
A cursory glance,
Tip-toed; in a trance.

There’s a grace about her, as she moves
Poised, fitting all the grooves.
She is made for the ball, they say
Within her own circle, she likes to sway.

Why then, her eyes radiate
No more, as they did before?
The lights have moved out, the stars glow
No more, as they did before.

Soul searching, she goes out for,
In the outlook is, all that she adores
Do you want to go back? A nod
And she climbed aboard.

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