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In a brilliant enchanted faerie forest, where deer were fed,
There was a mature, yet slightly miniature thistle bed,
Under shiny maple leaf completely opposite of red,
Was a tiny waif named Joyce resting her sweet empowered head

She had an independent streak, this petite, yet precocious mite.
Some people were afraid of her pure willingness to incite.
She questioned everyone in her village, with all of her might.
She let them know her opinions too, which were exceedingly bright.

She started with her parents, who role-modeled communication,
“Why? Who? When?” She would ask, “How can we get peace across the nation?”
She worked with some teachers, many who wanted reunification.
Pulled out community leaders, and neighbors, some in hibernation.

She advocated for the downtrodden, the unrepresented, and the oppressed.
“I’m here to help you fix the forest,” she answered, with understanding and finesse.
“Let’s listen to her,” the forest king said, “A child can help us clean up this mess.”
“Okay,” the committee agreed. They were all  feeling exasperated and stressed.

She gave them her fantastic ideas of ruling the people by giving them a choice.
Some were dubious, irritated they had to listen to a knowledgeable elf named Joyce.
“Children still know how to follow their hearts,” the Forest King said. His amber brown eyes were moist.
The room hushed, and a corpulent engineer named Beau brought in a giant purple and pink hoist.

 Joyce lifted high stood proud and tall, and spread her beautiful silver and gold translucent wings.
As she spoke the truth, her parents smiled and her credit-taking teachers began to sing.
Remember we are here to do our best, to inspire each other to really shine with zing.
“So be kind and gentle, thoughtful and good; and our amazing village will really be something!”
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