The old woman sits by a mud lake.
She holds a zither to her breast.
Broken strings flap in the wind.
Crows are cawing.
Do I dare look out?
Are they circling above the pond?
The ring of hollow winter chimes.
Crisp faeries skate hopscotch
Across snowflakes to bang their heads in time.
Copyright 2010 by David Alastair Hayden