It's not over:
This is a cycle not an arc.
Words cannot -
Resolve fairytale endings.
Nor a kiss nor a frog.
Only
The sword
Cold in her fire hands
Though it's
Okay -
If she needs sand through the hourglass
If she must travel
To sew, more quilt patches
On her armour.
She is fire
She is the purest star
Ever to burn
And
(Even when she's falling)
She burns
- cold and
Angry and dressed in ashes -
Bright.
