by Nick Gisburne
Elizabeth is volatile today,
Her broken playthings littering the floor.
The rage she struggles hard to keep at bay
Has taken her so many times before.
She tells a thousand stories with her toys,
A cast of tiny characters, her friends,
And most of all Elizabeth enjoys
A tale tied up with tension, as it ends.
She gathers up her ragged little clan,
The wreckage from a plot too bleak to bear.
Elizabeth will fix them if she can,
But some are shattered, far beyond repair.
She prods a weeping fairy till it sings,
Still bleeding where she twisted off its wings.
