Sestina Day 47: The Seven

Furthering the gay agenda through storytelling, here’s my take on what seven little men would be doing in a cottage…

Black hair, red lips and skin as white as snow
We saw her running down a forest track.
A blanket round her shoulders, frightened eyes.
At first we thought we’d keep out of the way.
She’d run from home, no doubt, for something small.
She’d soon calm down, and go back to the village

But Dopey said she wasn’t from the village.
He’d seen her dainty footprints in the snow
(He said he’d never seen a foot so small)
They led toward the palace. He can track
A spider to its web. She’d run away.
Could not go back; we saw it in her eyes.

But all of us had fled from prying eyes
And wagging tongues, been chased out of the village
And here, deep in the forest, found a way
To live in perfect love, as pure as snow
Three couples, with our stories back on track,
And poor old Dopey: sad, alone, and small.

Though, actually, we’re none of us that small.
Not dwarves, but “fairies”, in our neighbours’ eyes.
So now we live far from the beaten track.
Knowing we’re not accepted in the village
So when this dark haired girl with cheeks like snow
Showed up, we thought we ought to find a way

To find out why she’d had to run away.
Eventually she came upon our small
But tidy cottage, nestled in the snow
She looked at us with disbelieving eyes
And asked if she’d already found the village.
We laughed and told her she was way off track.

She told us then, how she’d come down this track.
How from the queen she’d had to run away
She thought she might seek shelter in the village.
(Our bitter smiles told her the chance was small)
Her woodsman’s blanket caught poor Dopey’s eyes
He snatched it from her, sobbing in the snow.

The village is some five miles down the track
But in this snow, she’ll never find her way.
Though our home’s small, She thanks us with her eyes.