The Girl in White

There she was the girl in white,

Dancing through Sherwood Forest.

Her feet wrapped in ballet slippers,

A light pink to match her warm cheeks.

She tiptoed through the buttercups, 

Till she reached the wall of Old Man Jenkins,

Without hesitation she flew over the brick-tone red,

Like an evening dove, her dreams took flight.

She landed softly in the soil,

A rich clay brown with an earthy scent, 

And breathed in the hope of tomorrow. 

Nothing could go wrong.

One year later sun filters through her dusty window,

Landing on a vase of blooming buttercups.

There she was the girl in white, her cheeks flushed like ballet slippers.

Her mother was beside her wearing a raven dress.

She gripped her mother's hand weakly,

And smiled through an array of tears.

"Why are you smiling?" Her mother asked.

Her voice came out, quiet and shallow.

"Mother, I danced through Sherwood Forest.

I tiptoed through the buttercups.

Now all is left is to leap over the wall,

With it's beautiful brick-tone red,

And rest in the rich clay brown soil.

Then I can dance forever."

Her hand fell limp as her eyes faded.

"I'm soaring like the evening dove."

With her final ounce of energy, she squeezed her mother's hand.

Then she was gone.

There she is the girl in white,

Dancing through Sherwood Forest,

Her cheeks still pink as ballet slippers.

Only now, she's taken flight.