A little girl waits in an oak tree
like a pearl from the deepest sea.
She hears her call,
a bold buzzing,
a white noise humming.
The little deer through the years
riding through her fiery fears
she fought and sought
with all her might
dodging judgy worldly lights.
Battles won – she can count a few,
the mountain peak, it’s not far from view.
Yesterday’s fountain has run dry
the truth, bellows a Banshee cry
they cannot run. they cannot hide,
for all unjust will certainly die.
The little girl laughs from her tree,
the ones before whisper in the breeze.