Hoyden

Perched in a tree
high aloft her mystic mountain
a hoyden sits
wrenching daisies from her hair

She cackles as they cascade
down to earth
Fluttering in a last attempt to fly

The last recognizes defeat,
alighting on the forest floor

She bursts from her throne
crashing atop the petals she’s discarded

Whooping, she stands,
brushes off her dirt covered skirt

Some day, I will be free