A Song of Innocence

A little girl, leaning against that old maple tree,

The leaves blowing in time to her forgotten heartbeat.

She stands, tall and graceful like that young willow,

Watching openly as the world continues to evolve.

A little girl, a weak breeze, a call for help awaiting.

A little girl walks through the ever-going hallway of pine trees,

Listening to the pitter-patter of rabbit paws on the dirt.

She sits, delicately and gracefully like the way daffodils dance.

Listening to the calls of her surroundings wondering ‘what if?’

A little girl, a recognisable breeze, a call for help awaiting.

A little girl lays down and stares up at trees taller than her father,

The leaves creating unspoken words in the sunlight.

She looks around at what lives before her,

Waiting for the thriving lives of the natural world to collapse into the mud.

A little girl, a growing breeze, a call for help awaiting.

A little girl, an unignorable breeze, a call for help awaiting.

A little girl stands before millions of wounded soldiers,

Casualties by the million laying before her horror-struck eyes.

Baring only the flesh on her body she cries,

Cries out to the world that evolved beyond recognition of their destruction.