the lowly branches give a creek
as they bend to earth to give a greet
i pat my horse to soothe its whine
as we duck another twisted vine
deeper into the forest we go
as we hear the water flow
body positioned; ready for flight
as we follow the second star to the right
we walk along the trodden trail
our puffs of breath, both heavy and frail
we walk until we can’t anymore
my heart skips a beat, then two, then four
we settle under a tree for the night
the branches impede our source of light
we knot ourselves and drift off to sleep
hoping we won’t miss Peter Pan creep
for he’s the one we’ve followed so far
withstanding the blood, the bruise, the scar
so that when he sees us, he won’t run or hide
instead, he’ll look upon us with pride
he’ll break into a grin,
he’ll hold out a hand
and with a little bit of pixie dust
we’ll fly to Neverland.