She was but a survivor of the war,
Just like the other children, nothing more.
She walks around dressed in tatters,
Nibbling on crackers the size of her little finger.
She’s a fearless hunter by day,
A meek, doe-eyed deer by nightfall.
Nothing can assure her brother’s safe return home;
Not even the phantom of peace looming around the corner.
Despite it all there is a sparkle in her eye;
Maybe someday she’ll stand atop a mountain peak,
With a joyful smile across her lips,
And an unsung melody in the deep creases of her soul.
ThePurpleFenix 