Whether You Are A Twelve-year-old Princess Or

Night Is Done, Gone The Moon, Gone The Stars From The Skies. Fades The Black Of Night Comes The Morn With Rosy Light. Fold Your Wings, Go To Sleep, Rest Your Gizzards, Safe You'll Be For The Day. Glaux Is Nigh. Far Away Is First Black, But It Shall Seep Back Over Field Over Flower In The Twilight Hour. We Are Home In Our Tree. We Are Owls, We Are Free. As We Go, This We Know Glaux Is Nigh.

The Tail Of The Comet Slashed The Dawn And In The Red Light Of The Rising Sun, For A Brief Instant, It Seemed As If The Comet Was Bleeding Across The Sky.

Legends Were Not Only For The Desperate. Legends Were For The Brave. (soren)

When I Was Growing Up I Loved Reading Historical Fiction, But Too Often It Was About Males; Or, If It Was About Females, They Were Girls Who Were Going To Grow Up To Be Famous Like Betsy Ross, Clara Barton, Or Harriet Tubman. No One Ever Wrote About Plain, Normal, Everyday Girls.

A Spark Can Become A Flame, A Flame A Fire.