Runs through the forest with the wind in her hair.
Tripping over the briars that strangle the ground.
Gazing at starlight it's blessing the copse.
The fear in dark moments  realising she's lost.
In the 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 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 resounding.
The 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 she's resting her sweet grateful head.
(C) LIVVI