A little girl waits in an oak tree
like a pearl from the deepest sea.
She hears her call,
a bold buzzing,
drumming thoughts
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.
Charlie Ann Alford 
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