Ten small moons
blank as bone,
not bright enough
to guide her home.
Five above, and
five below
in the land of Fae,
where cold winds blow.

A coffin, glass,
her beauty case;
asleep at last,
the maiden, chaste.
A mirror’s truth
first planted seed,
from poison springs
doom’s apple tree.

Cloaked in night
her hunter lies;
a queen deceived
by fourteen eyes.
Grim tales weave
through bloody looms.
In royal breast
a thawed rose blooms.

Ryan Stone


First published in Poppy Road Review, March 2016.

53 thoughts on “Sneewittchen

  1. Beautiful poem, clever twist Mr. Stone. The rhyme and archaic words added to the sophistication of this tale. Loved it and the image you chose compliments that ingenious title!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Ryan, this is such a delightful retelling of a classic tale in poetic form, wonderful. You had me smiling with, β€œby fourteen eyes” a great visual. I thoroughly enjoyed this. Please have a wonderful weekend. ~ Mia

    Liked by 1 person

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