smooth
as marble
strangely warm
are her
alabaster arms

benieth
long bangs
a curve of grace
is her
piquant little
face

a waif-like
gamen little thing
she is a fairie
with no wings

a smudge
of feathers round
her head
she lies on tile

almost
dead

the world saw
her wounds and scars
but we don't
care unless they're

OURS


now her
pain is
in the
past

now
she
has
her
wings
at
last


(c) soulsurvivor