Within the world,
there lived a girl,
whose eyes danced with mischief.
With the ink of she a pen,
she was able to mend, all her worried and sorrows.
Tried though she might,
to win all her fights,
she was unable to win the battle.
And as she lay in bed,
with a book by by her head,
she cried silent tears of regret.
For once the ink she used bled dry,
she looked up at the heavenly sky
and wondered, "Why?" as her mind
ran astray,
hoping and praying,
for a better day,
that would convince her enough to stay.


~a.e