Carving 'the' world into 'her' world

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It was a beautiful world she abounded.
The flowers were in full bloom,
The birds chirped joyously,
And there was the essence of eternal spring;

And if there was a pest unexpected,
A thorn unwanted, or a bird hurt by careless gambol,
There she was,
Killing the pests, nipping the thorns, tending the birds,
Making sure the spring remained eternal.

Her world was ideal,
And when it was not ideal, she made it ideal.
Her world thanked her for that.
She was happy and so was her world;
But it was 'her' world.

And then the day came when she had to go out,
To 'the' world from 'her' world,
It was an arid desert,
Overwhelm, shock, suffocation; mild words these were;

And even from my distance,
I could feel the suppressed pain,
As she reminisced of her world,
A fading memory...
Guarded savagely from fading.

Yet she didn't turn back...

She planted buds in the arid land,
And watered them assiduously,
Toiled to bring water for those flowers from within her,
Day after day...
Till one morning the flowers bloomed.

Beautiful they were; scarce could I hold my delight on seeing those blooms.
She had carved 'the' world into 'her' world.

She was ecstasic again,
And the world thanked her for a beauty it had not known it possessed,

And I was content,
For she was happy and the world was happy;
And despite the distance of my perch,
in my own insignificant way,
I had tried to help her carve her world, the ideal world.