A quiet morning, as though some untold events of the night before had exhausted it,
Leaving it weary and old,
Ashamed and alone in itself-
Scared of the adventure it tasted briefly,
Tried to hold onto, let slip away
Scared of how small it was compared to what it could've been
The little girl knew nothing of this-
Innocent and unaware of
The cruel minuteness of the world
She bumbled along- unassuming, unsuspecting
Happening along the corpse
Of a white, white owl
-a friend, perhaps? And what is friendship in the face of death?
The mystery of the death struck the little girl
With a sadness she had never known before, or since
And could not quite explain to herself
Tears were shed as she would never shed them since
For the innocence lost in a story she could take no part it,
A life that seemed to float right beyond her fingers, escaping her grasp
All seemed lost for a moment; the darkness seemed to overwhelm her, swallow her
Suddenly the sun rose with a burst over the fields
And all at once, the girl was filled with magic
And she believed
She believed she had a part in that story
She believed there was an eternal happiness for the white, white owl
And she believed, that,
In the face of death,
Friendship was everything.