by The Juicer

Through the back bedroom wall,
She melted down the spiral staircase I knew not –
Out in the snowy fields.
It was a battlefield alright;
The soldiers not marching, no drumroll,
In ambush. But she knew where –
The grey dragon lay,
Beaten and massive.
From my cool window, I called in the distance –
To its shimmering loss.
Up, Up, you must!
The shackles broken,
All tempered glass, in her willowy hands.
Escape we must,
To the great whites;
Meet the sky.