the thorn path

she made her feathered nest
in the tangled boughs of oak, ash, thorn
and found mushroom echoes of moonbeams
she delved for essence
among the hawthorn roots
and brought woven certainty to light
she entered the ring
where faeries are dancing
and knew the wheel’s ceaseless turning
she sought crooked paths into the woods
shunning the straight and sunny
and this has made all the difference
she will not return
to the mundane world
but you may hear her singing