To my awesome cousin John,

may you always believe in magic, go on brave adventures, chase butterflies, talk to the stars, and dream the biggest dreams your heart can hold. This story is for you — for your giggles, your courage, and the amazing imagination that turns ordinary days into epic adventures. Never stop believing in magic, little hero. 

In Elderglow Forest, where bright sun would play,
lived Felicity Thorn in a cottage of hay.
With Mama named Vivian, quiet and tall,
who didn’t say very much, not much at all.

Felicity’s hair shone bright like the sun,
she laughed and she skipped and had so much fun.
She thought every day was happy and bright,
wrapped up in warm, golden light.

One rainy morning, with boom-booming sky,
mama rushed in with a loud, grumpy cry.
“Felicity, hurry! There’s chores to be done!”
Her voice wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t much fun.

Felicity sighed with a soft little “oh,”
and thought of sweet Maple in her cozy stall below.
She dreamed of riding where bright sunbeams play,
through happy green forests all day, every day.

Felicity stayed in the stable each day,
not to scrub or to sweep, but to quietly stay.
For Maple was gentle and kind as could be,
a soft, steady friend as a friend ought to be.

The stable felt cozy, a warm little space,
with sweet-smelling hay and a calm, happy place.
The longer she stayed with her sweet horse so true,
the safer she felt in her snug little nook.

Felicity lingered in Maple’s stall,
till she heard her mother loudly call.
Vivian’s eyes flashed fierce and bright,
“too long!” she cried in stormy fright.

Felicity stood there, brave and small,
yet Mama’s anger rose so tall.
She grabbed her ear and pulled her tight,
up the stairs in the fading light.

Into the attic, dark and bare,
she shut the door and left her there.

Though a bedroom waited down below,
Felicity slept in the attic—oh no.
Her mother would lock the creaky door tight,
where shadows stretched long in the quiet night.

She curled on a blanket, dusty and small,
with moonlight that slipped on the wall.
Each night she’d write her hopes and her fears,
and blink back brave, sparkly tears.

She’d gaze at the round little window up high,
at twinkling stars in the dark blue sky.
The forest whispered, “come and see…”
And she dreamed of the day she’d be free. 

When Felicity woke with the bright morning sun,
she slipped on her dress, though it was tattered and worn.
She packed up some bread in her dusty gray sack,
and told her dear mother, “I soon will be back.”

But quick as a bunny, she ran with a grin,
and hopped onto Maple—“Let’s go!” she chimed in.
They rode toward the sunrise, happy and free,
chasing the wind through each flower and tree.