Once a model of peace.
I would braid daisies
into her hair
while she hummed
sweet melodies
with the birds in a meadow clearing
deep in the forest.
Forgotten by most
protected by us.
We would light candles
under the midnight sky
with fire in her eyes
burning bright as the stars
so very far above us.

But the still burning embers
caught the trees on fire
in the late of summer.
Leaves raging ablaze with colors.
Yellow, red, and orange
until all the green was gone and
her chorus of birds flew south.
The fire trailed behind her
as she left the clearing
in search of her birds.

Onwards she marched
never to look back to the days of daisies
and humming with the birds.

Now the clearing is silent
covered with a sheet of snow and ice.
Step one, Step two
to the beat of Uncle Sam’s drum.