Sun Bleached? No, She's A Redhead.

She's a bloomer,
I couldn't be prouder.
As if I had a part
in her finding ground.
But I've done no such.

She wrote the rain
and then back to me.
She leaves books in fields
and pushes past the haze,
gets in the door
where she's hit, I'll never know.

Asleep on the bench,
I've been found.
We gather up the ash
to throw it all back.
It was never ours in the first place.

She'll realize it's beyond her hands.
She'll do fine too,
she'll know she's doing justice.
She'll know she's doing just fine.