Runs through the forest with the wind in her hair.
Tripping over the briars, as they strangle the ground.
Gazing at starlight, it's blessing the copse.
The fear in those dark moments, when she's realising that she's totally lost.

In a hole at the base of a gigantic tree she curls up to sleep.
Deep in the forest, none hear her weep.
The owl in the tree, he keeps his own counsel.
He's so very quiet, she knows he's up there.
The guardian of her silence.
A voice in the darkness cries, "Sweet Ann-Marie, where are thee?"
The squeak in the dark.
The voice of the child, an echo's resounding.
Those lanterns they're calling for the little girl lost.
Into the clearing, more echoes are heard.
Alarming the owl, the wise old bird.
The flapping of wings, flying out of the clearing.
The seekers are finders, as now they are nearing.
Finding the frightened child, in the sweet summer dress.
At the base of the tree.
They hold her so tight as now she is free.
Tears of relief grace her delicate face.
Safe and sound, off home to bed.
Relieved as now, she's resting her ever grateful head.
(C) Livvi