Poem: At the Edge of the Wood.

[seanan_mcguire]

I am not a little girl, said the child at the edge of the wood,
And I am not a little boy, but I have a cloak and a hood,
And I know where the wolves will be waiting,
And I know that the owls sing for me,
And I have no more time for your labels.
I will go where the story takes me.

I am not afraid to try, said the child with the moon in their hair,
And I am not afraid to fall, for I know what my story can bear,
And I know that the wolves have been waiting,
And I know who I'm learning to be,
And I have no more time for denials.
I will go where the story takes me.

I am not alone tonight, said the child who had journeyed so far,
And I am not confused or lost, I am following my signal star,
And I tell you that you can come with me,
And I promise I'm someone to trust,
For we have no more time to waste weeping.
Let us go where the story takes us.

(For a friend who is having some personal changes and realizations, and needed a path drawn through the wood for them.)