Hush little baby don’t say a word.

Momma’s gonna buy you a mocking bird.

To war!  To war!

With brandished sword

And pointed spear

And arrows bent

And banners raised

We lift our voices high!

For life and land

Queen and kin

We shout out to the sky!

To war!  To war!

We might not return

But fear do we spurn

We voice our battle cry!

To war!

So the Fairy Folk sang as they marched to battle.

***Ok, so this is probably the worst "essay" ever written. It's based off of a silly conversation me and my sisters frequently take up. We're huge fans of both movies. ::) Soo . . . enjoy this *cough* horribly written paper! ::D ***

Only thirteen--how?

How could her lack of grace 

keep her from recognizing Your face?

Pain and shame, with no one to clear the blame.

This fallen little girl has seen the world

now she's hates her very name.

So much for love and respect on earth,

shattered and torn by a broken life,

calling out unconsciously for new birth,

wanting to see the meaning of paradise. 

Only eighteen--why?

Why in his strife with noise

was he able to block out Your voice?

assurance that You're faithful
but still a storm

You are always tall
but the battle is a loud call

Amen comes from parted lips
but behind is found bitterness

You are here
but still it's easy to scream of fear

faith of being kept
but silence tightens breath

You are right beside
but there are things dying

understanding being found
but looking up from being drowned

truth about being held
but not an easy thought once felled

Dear God,

We haven't spoken since July. I have only spoken to you. Something is wrong with me. I used to be able to talk to you and know with my heart that you heard me. now, I talk and I feel as if I were talking to myself. I still know that you hear. But I know it the way I know that you know my every thought.

“Stop!”
Anne ran down the hospital hallway to the bed that was being wheeled out of a small corridor room towards the Surgery Room.
A nurse looked to the other doctors around the bed. She paused, holding the syringe which would anesthetise the patient. Anne's pace screeched to a stop as she reached them, knowing she looked quite distressed and out of breath.
“Please stop,” Anne’s dark eyes were flashing as they turned to her. She looked down at the still body beneath the sheets and her eyes moved to the blindfold on his eyes.

**A poem of two perspectives. It was written while I thought about the two main characters of my (other) novel. Aida's people are a race descended from Dryads, and... well, I hate to give the plot away, so glean what you will from the poem.**