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.