A young girl, looking for an adventure,
A silly soul not wanting to curse her.
A mind to die, inevitable at least,
Whom oft creates her inner manic beast.
To loves and lost ones, she spoke so dearly,
And told her stories to relate so nearly.
A premonition shows only in mind,
The world as is, not entirely kind.
The closest ones in their own little worlds,
And blind to Mother Earths kin, sprouting curls.
So tightly she held to wisdom she earned.
Preparing to lose the words she had learned.
Of ways she influenced, words recorded,
Then dying soon, angels wings worn and sordid.