What once was a bird of flames,

would now be a small, quiet, bird of a girl

Picked on and trampled down,

it would be as though she were made of water.

Little would anyone know,

this small, quiet, bird of a girl,

could heal armies with a single tear.

She could sing fluently,

and make a grown man cry.

No one ever paid her much mind,

she never spoke much or acted much.

A person could find her in the library,

head deep into a book.

Or perhaps humming a tune,

with sweet, precise melody.

Those she's confronted by,

claim she's odd and doesn't belong.

She simply stares,

says nothing.

Under her water facade,

she is a fireball waiting to burst.

Perhaps in her next life,

she will be more willing to speak and sing.

But she lives a long life now,

and will be eternity till the next.

She can't do a thing now,

only wait a while.

Until then, everyone knows,

she's a small, quiet, bird, of a girl.