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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

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