by Nick Gisburne
I found a tiny flower in the wood.
She told me she was just a little lost.
I promised I would help her if I could,
But never thought of any kind of cost.
With sinuous, extraordinary roots,
Her slender stem was anchored in the soil.
I slaved and sweated, strained from cap to boots,
Determined to release her with my toil.
A promise to a flower Fey, she said,
Can never be returned, rewound, released.
I pleaded for my freedom. She, instead,
Grew stronger as my suffering increased.
Her petals fold like fingers on my face.
She whispers, “You will never leave this place.”
