Out there – running – in the snow
no tracks denote her pace
barefoot – ostentatious show
of an idle race
Lovely, aye, & wanton wild
Elf! Fairy! Fiend!
Flakes & whirlers hound her
bobbing at her behind
Her ecstasy employs wishes
she feeds on butterflies
the fact she exists is derision
& hope’s resounding demise
She wields the icicle with eloquence
slow death like Winter can
& yet bounds on with feverish step
exuberant though all is wan
A shadow disrupts the landscape
the blizzard condescends
allowing us a fleeting glimpse of
what we’ll ne’er apprehend
Wolves try – she knows them not
they snarl – she does not heed
she’d rather grope for the pallid Sun
Elf! Fairy! Fiend …
Her actions are inexplicable
these erratic, nameless throes
though – strange it seems – irrefutably
there is a familiar trend
A certain grace – dignified? – not quite
sympathetic though fiercely envied
by who? – by you? – perhaps, me?
Elf? Fairy? Fiend … ?
© 1995, 2002, 2025 Kirstin Sørensen
