Lucy ran 10,000 miles before

nightfall, and still has 10,000 to go.
Lucy found a shell casing in

the woods; but disregarded it as
something only a mere hunter could
leave behind.
Lucy sips the cool, replenishing water
from the brook, feels it permeate her lips; nothing
could be better at a time like this.
Lucy knows not to talk to strangers.
Lucy knows turning in a man who
shoots people dead can get you dead.
But Lucy's dream-filled mind and
open mouth cannot be shut, silenced,

or penetrated by a bullet.

Lucy sees a lantern, her lantern, in the distance.
Lucy decides to play detective and not go home,
even though she should.
Lucy has the desire to listen to dead man's

tales; seeping up from the underground,
but all she can hear are crickets.
Lucy feels the world expanding with

each step she takes away from the
nurturing lantern; the least the Earth's borders
could do is contract like the protective walls they are for

a poor lost little girl.

Lucy feels the shell casing, cold on her
hands but once hot as it kissed the

barrels of a gun; its intended fate unknown.
Lucy takes in her surroundings; this ain't the Forest of

Arden, but maybe the crunching leaves beneath her
feet will facilitate chance meetings with beloved answers.
Lucy feels the cold wind air and

hears it whistle, but it sings no lullabies
tonight.

Lucy is still walking.