She pulls us, unknowing
Demure as a winter landscape
And yet she seems like lush black loam -
As if the freshest worms nestled in her hair.
We cannot help the way
We chase, pulling strands when she droops
The bears would have loved her, but the little men
Found her first, jealous
And fierce with their axes.
No wonder the queen could not let her be.
Or the huntsman.
Something in her speaks to the heart
Of every heart half pure -
Hungry, selfish, yet open enough
To grieve the innocence we will devour.
She begged. Unthinkably generous
They set her in diamond to keep her safe,
And so she lay at peace.
Until an incautious prince rode by…
Soon, the coffin will open.