There was a young girl,
Who did not cause trouble.
She was quiet and shy,
As if she lived in a bubble.
She had her ways,
of finding the truth.
She believed,
There was always proof.

There was a young girl,
Who never knew herself.
She wondered why,
And how that could be.
Until one day,
When she spotted a book.
One that deserved,
A few closer looks.

There was a young girl,
That wanted to know more.
So she read the book,
And hid it behind the door.
Nobody was to know,
She now had the book.
She wanted to keep it,
And that had to be a secret.

There was a young girl,
That read an old book.
The book made her realize,
Everything was a lie.
It allowed her to decide,
It was time to leave everything behind.
She thought and read,
And she cleared her head.

There was a young girl,
Who had run away.
She couldn’t stand the pain,
That wanted her to stay.
She still held the book,
Ever so tight,
The only thing,
To comfort her at night.

There was a young girl,
Who finally knew herself.
She knew what to do,
To start with everything new.
She was finally happy,
And actually true,
When it became time,
For something borrowed and something blue.

There was a young girl,
Who wasn’t young anymore.
She had a girl of her own,
Whom she’d just bought an ice cream cone.
She loved her to death,
And wouldn’t trade her for the world.
Now they both had books,
Her and her greatest girl.