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
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