Perched in her seat so prim and divine
While murky brown eyes stab into mine
She scoffs and snarls, her doubt shining bright
Fate, destiny, luck it's all a sham
She says with much confidence to spare
That poor fickle child I breathe out loud
Withered is her mind so full of facts
Firm and strict unable to see it
The wonders of foresight never hers
Her spirit's sealed tight, away from all.
Still I speak of marvels yet to come
Hoping the energies will shine through
And persuade even those still resigned.
Shove her negativity away
And let those sensitive flourish here.
Until at last I refurbish her
To sweet innocence and clarity
The nectar of most wonderful Sight
Else to the day I can take no more
And shove that brat down the tower stair.