A White Heron in Poetry form

The shiest of smiles, such sparkling eyes -
Such gray, such bright, such beautiful eyes! -
Young Sylvy runs through the misty night,
Such a graceful body with a gait so light.
She's chasing the cow that must be near;
'Co' Co', C'o Co', please come here!'
Mistress Molly snorts, such a clever cow -
Learned to hide and silence her bell.
Sylvy guides her back to her grandma's home
And they walk together, yet all alone.
The house sits back, away from the world,
Deep in the forest lives this shy little girl.
When, suddenly, a whistle, Sylvy hears,
And she begins to quake inside with fear,
As a young man walks close with a gun on his back.
He says, 'Hello little girl, come talk to me lass.'
Sylvy stays quiet, but then murmurs her name.
She takes him to grandma who invites him to stay.
Each day he goes out in search of new birds,
Young Sylvy goes with him and he fills her with words
Of the land whence he came, so full of life!
Adventure and romance fill up her mind.
But suddenly snaps back to this world when she sees,
The hard steel of the gun kill the bird that was free.
As it falls to the ground, feathers covered in blood,
In Sylvy's big heart, the emotions all flood.
How can she love someone who brings death to this place?
But how can she not when he offers escape?
Little by little, the hunter tells Sylvy more
Says he'll give her ten dollars and open up doors
To adventure and freedom that she never has known,
If she'll just tell him where the white heron has flown.
Such torment and chaos fill this poor child's mind!
Could she betray a creature that is of her own kind?
She winds through the forest, running fast, breathing deep.
She has to decide which promise to keep.
She reches the tree that is mighty and tall.
The heron's within it, but she could so easily fall.
She grasps the tree hard and climbs up its boughs.
She slips, holds tight, wipes the sweat from her brows.
When she reaches the top, the sun rises and peaks
There thw white heron stands, so strong, yet so meek.
As the light pushes past the forest, she sees
The ocean, the freedom, the world that she seeks.
She vows to keep quiet and let the white heron live.
She forgets all the things that the young man can give.
Birds are better friends than man, so they say.
The men will all leave, but the birds will remain.
She goes back to her life and the young man moves on
But sometimes she still hears him in the dusk or the dawn.
His whistle is haunting in the crisp, misty air
And sometimes she regrets her choice to not share.
So nature, remember this poor little girl.
Recall what she gave up to save your own world,
Remember her suffering, let her eyes please behold,
The gifts that you have that no one else could know.

Based on 'A White Heron' by Sarah Orne Jewett

Jewett, Sarah Orne. "A White Heron". The American Tradition in Literature. 12th ed. New York: McGraw-Hill, 2009. Print.