On silver wings of desperation

she flees,

the knife in her hand drips

a Hansel and Gretel trail

that any ordinary man could find

 

the unicorn dips his head

as she passes

he has no wish to bear

witness to the crime

what he does not see…

 

the fairies in the glade

following her

flit from tree to tree

their incessant chatter

like birdsong

 

cover her footsteps

so none hear her pass

complicit in death

as in life they claim

to value freedom.

 

 

©Niamh Corcoran