I

Into the azure lake where wondrous lotuses form islands of shapes
The little girl with peachy freckles on her smooth cheeks plays.
She doesn’t know yet that, ripe, her pearl strings of bursting grapes
Succumb to glass prisons, away from sun’s strokes, as dry or suave taste
For snobbish or exuberant shadows who picking and squeezing crave.

The photo’s source

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