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Glass shimmers in the moonlight,
encasing her delicate toes
as she runs off into the night-
a magic gift to match her clothes.

The sound of glass on cobblestone
reverberates across the courtyard.
A slip, a fall, a frantic moan-
the glass masterpiece now a discard.

Left alone, just half of a pair,
the fairy-made glass will whisper
of something gone wrong there.
The stroke of midnight: faster, faster.

Now the magic has died away,
leaving only one glass stray.
©2007-2009 ~saraikristi
:iconsaraikristi:

Author's Comments

Written for my WRTG 205 class- a poem about a shoe, not in first person and not using humor, between ten and twenty lines. Please let me know what you think

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March 20, 2007
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