Deep in the Ohio woods,
to bluish grey eyes espy,
The wondrous echoes of nature give their humble
reply,
to the spirit of sight, and the will to try.
Billows of smoke from fires who do not cease to
prier,
ventured the aptly named Little Miss Sharpshooter,
the stakes couldn't be higher.
To feed the sick and hungry, to blow away the
competition,
to set all new records and rewrite the given,
No one aimed higher,
no one was more driven.
How could it be difficult?
How could sight not believe?
Skeptics and naysayers? Hard to conceive.
Bolts of lightning cast forth from the soul of the
West,
struck down the greatest, struck down the best.
You can relax, even before you go far,
Aim for something in reach-"light up" a
cigar.
With enough gold in trophies to fill the banks of
a river,
Even Queen Victoria remembers the show you would
give her.
After winning every round, with spunk and esteem,
you're worth more than a thousand words to fit in
every magazine.
It isn't that that's important-it's the simple
things of course.
Sitting by the gentle waters-feeding a horse.
So aim for your dreams, listen to that fire,
obey your intuition, your heart is not a liar.
Everyone, including Sitting Bull knew-that your
aim was impeccable, that your heart was true.
Yes, with a heart so golden, a shell so strong,
It's no wonder you were the biggest lil legend
that ever came along.
You are unique,
No need to be a replica,
Yes it is true, my dear Miss America.
https://www.fictionpress.com/~themagicwizardofages44
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