They said she was wanton.
That from a child she’s been, capricious.
Her mom would sigh. Her father, frown.
They loathed how she refused to bow.
She was, to them,
A moral stain.
They had stopped speaking to her
Till she had learned submission.
The wayward daughter of the tribe.
The one who lost
Only they none of them knew
In shunned space,
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: wayward in 77 words