She screams, "Here I am do you remember me?"

Her feet glide across the top leaves of an emerald sycamore tree.

She knows she is not lost because surely they can see.

She is always lit at once her embers cool and new.

When she licks a lolly pop she's seen by the moon.

Once upon this time,
She searched in the dark.
For the map that lead to the new, not for the old to start.

But people are lying so vicious so true. So cold without a direction to whom.

She runs away with her head held high,
A dance in the dark of 500 fireflies.

She knows not where she is going but knows she is not lost.

Burdened by the light and what her now and wish will cost.

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