by Nick Gisburne
A fallen fairy shivers in the stream,
Her wings no longer glittering with gold.
No nightmare, no intolerable dream,
Predicted such a feeling could unfold.
While humans hunt with slow and simple wits,
The Fey are quick, impossible to catch,
But this one, faint, in freezing water sits,
Lamenting, on the day she met her match.
On high she spied the struggles of a fish,
Exhausted, somehow stranded on the bank.
Too wild to waste her magic with a wish,
She pushed it, paused, and, from the shallows, drank.
Inside a simple snare, the fish its bait,
She cries, too cold, a lesson learned, too late.
