Faerie;
With your golden eyes,
your sharp-toothed smile,
the words you spin in gossamer,
in starlight,
in orb-weaver silk.

You compose
a symphony in mycelium:
Each tree an instrument,
each interwoven root
a note in harmony.

Silvertongue, sundew,
you have set a snare with green willow,
a net of blackberry thorns,
baited it with honey.
All around, the evergreen pines,
the winter roses bloom.
A sweet end,
arranged in perfect circles
for you and I alone.

I step, happily, toward your waiting arms—
for with your clever, clever fingers,
oh,
sunflower,
you have
stolen
me
away.