|
Hansel
It is dark in the forest,
and all sound is swallowed
by the cathedral trees.
My sister’s hair glows
in the cunning moonbeams
piercing the darkness.
"I'm not afraid," I tell her.
She needs the company of lies
now that the breadcrumbs are gone.
And the sweet green smell
of failing leaves warms us
mingling with a sweeter scent
reaching out to us,
whispering bright colours
and comforts I don't trust.
But when we find the cottage
in a glade of liquorice trees,
still, we run to it laughing.
|
