The age of knowledge

She stopped the flitter, flutter
of the butterfly's wings.
Clasping the point with
her clawed hand.
Her hair ebony black
Rustled by the chaotic wind.
Her eyes piercing blue.
She was naturally blonde,
but those day were long since gone.
She could not stand for she was too weak
So she sat,
Whispering to the dead roots
Of the willow.
Cross legged and still too mature
For her age.
Her words fractured and broken
'Ees times no' good four ma bak.'
She was 10.
But she had the knowledge of a 92 year old.