by Nick Gisburne
There is a hole, a woeful, wicked place
A darkness, where the fairies fall to die
Where nightmares scratch enchantments from the face
And pluck the shining pearls of tooth and eye
The light, the life, of stolen wings is drained
As milk for grim elixirs, drop by drop
And with the body ruthlessly restrained
Its innocence is punished, tail to top
The fairy, ragged, wretched, without hope
Becomes a toy for diabolic play
Until, forgotten, bound by chains and rope
A final drop of magic drips away
The pain, for every fairy, is their curse
A fate no spell, no stardust, can reverse
