The meadows were quiet,
her stuttering breath heavy in the wind,
a loud contrast to the calm,
as she runs from heaven.

She ran and ran until the end of the land,
nowhere to go and yet she still ran,
her destination were vague,
anything, anywhere, as far as it takes.

In her rush, her knees crumbled,
as reality hits her shivering heart.
She could never return,
to her home, her eyes began to burn.

Her sobs shatters the quiet,
screaming to cover the hurt,
as memories of wandering hands ghost through,
she wails into the midnight blue.

The wolf is real,
hiding under a sheep’s fur,
The wolf’s smile are saccharine sweet,
who would believe her trembling tear.
Who would trust the girl who cries,
when the wolf’s the one who raised her?