by Nick Gisburne
Her gamble is a reckless, last resort
She begs the Inquisition for the chance
To bring her friends, the Fey, before the court
As witness to the nature of her dance
A vote, contentious, tolerates the plea
The fairy folk will testify, in chains
With little of their customary glee
They speak of life before the recent rains
As every flower perished in the heat
When kingdoms, dry as dust, could not survive
She promised water, cold and clear and sweet
A dance, to keep their paradise alive
How could she know her swirling steps might flood
These fabled fields with storms of burning blood?
