Twice removed,

The boy moves through life,

Poppies and death at his door.

He is all Grimm tales & glitter.

 

I tend the fire in my rags,

But I am beautiful,

Flames at the edge of my skirt,

Violins from the hills,

And he unaware

That I am the queen of swords.

 

A hundred years ago in the dance hall

I wore a flower on my breast

And moved in absentia.

 

In between worlds

I was part of the singing dead,

Wayward in the final scheme.