There was once, in a far away country made of the coldest air
A child, a pretty child, left to fend for herself, with none to give her some care
She would toil by day, sweep the floor, clean the sink
She would cry by night, try to fall asleep in a blink
Miserable was her life, she was but seven
Her parents had died of poverty and to an orphanage she had been abandoned
Her guardian was a rude woman
Who would only care to cater to her own burden!
On one particular night, the child saw a shooting star
It fell on Earth itself it seemed, it fell somewhere near the forest
So, she opened the window of her room and chose to run to that place, surely not so far
She did run in the night, going wherever her feet willed her, whether it was to the East or to the West!
At one point in time, she lost her way, she lost her strength
That was when the skies opened up and a big, luminous hand came to her length
It caught her and brought her to a place I cannot describe, for I have not yet seen it
But surely, it must be someplace where her young and naive soul would now be given due credit!
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