In the woods where wild things grow,
A woman's beauty makes all the air flow,
Her skin adorned with tattoos that tell a tale,
Of passion for life and art to unveil.
She hangs by her hands on a branch so fine,
Her body twisted in an arc, like the wind,
Her hair cascading down, a waterfall of strands,
Dancing with the forest's silent demand.
In this moment frozen, she becomes a piece of art,
A sculpture of life that stands apart,
A statement about humanity and nature combined,
A blending of flesh and leaves, forever confined.
No. 00097