Howls send chills through the hills

Mischa, the first redhead upon the world's stage

Mischa was a young girl at the time of her age

When tending the sheep of the family's herd

A wolf's deep howl made her concerned

Driving the sheep, with the thwack of a stick

Keeping them close, together they sticked

Then once up a hill on a rock she had slipped

Caught in debris, she nearly had tripped

Now that she has red hair, her brothers do laugh

But she is not trusted with her father's own staff

Upon the thwack it had startled the sheep

They fled up the hill, the sheep did so bleat

In the end, they fell off the cliff

Mischa's heart is now torn as a rift

The sheep in the canyon like meat in a bowl

The panic set in, the peace the wolf stole

She laid with her friends, and cried to sleep

She lost the lives of many a sheep

Though her mother washes her hair, and it'll never again be pure

Her sisters grow jealous of her newfound allure

Contributing to superstition making it worse,

Just like the Bible, her mother calls the color a "curse."

***

Thavien's Tokens:

This poem was inspired by and originally commented on Emma Kate Coleman's "Mischa."