She sat in the sill of her window,
at a cottage tucked by peaks of rock
in the valley smack dab in the middle
she waited; wedged like a door stop,
between forest and town.
A candle gleamed from her lookout,
the orange hue turned the cottage
into a lighthouse: placed there to guide those
that found themselves lost in the dark,
and laced with fright.
On days where the proud man of the sky,
stood with a smile and hands on his hips,
her voice could be heard shining in the rays
and floating on his breeze,
for even the sun took notice
of singing angels.
On days where the man of the sky,
lay slumped and hidden in shame
with tears flowing down to dampen
the parade of others games,
her dancing in the rain
would bring warmth,
to such caves
of a day.
It was one of these days,
or so they say, that the Kid
finally peaked from behind the
trees and stones, to see the town
that lay in wait, with pockets full
of water, and wet with more than
just bother, slumped with a grump,
the Kid saw that candle light
and the fair maiden dancing
in the rain; his heart was moved
from dark to bright.