Elf Girl

A girl of old,

All dressed in leaves,

And leather boots,

With sequin-stud sheaths.


Belt of the twine,

Found in far trees,

Tunic of leaves,

Blown dry in the breeze.


She’ll dive and weave,

But not in fright,

Of trouble near,

With her in the fight.


Hair darkest black,

Face palest white,

With silver eyes,

And lips filled with shine.


Her friends, they leave,

When temper brews,

Often it’s there,

As she enters blues.


Her ears have point,

Dark knife at belt,

Curious frown,

At move in the bush.


Quick-witted fights,

Are what she does,

But healing light,

Is something she loves.


Hair full of waves,

Around her neck,

Flow over vial,

It’s clear blood she kept.


Alone she stands,

Alone she’s lived,

Past is haunted,

Future is twisted.


But when alone,

(As often is),

Girl is lonely,

She misses freedom.


When once as child,

Her father killed,

Their secret split,

Far into the world.


So now she runs,

To find the end,

End of the pain,

And maybe a friend.


No age defined,

By life or look,

But you beware,

She can be mistook.


The End

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