Sparkling gift. The tale of the winter forest

                The Arena
                by Lindsey Stirling


Nils was on lake's protruded ice.
He went. It creaked under his soles.
The multitude of scared eyes
were staring at imprudent stirs.
But he was firm to get the rose,
despite the risk of being lost...

He went. It seemed He stopped to breath.
Slowed moves were really looking strange.
Nils spread his hands like fledgling wings,
if it could help to lower weight.
The youth looked like a rope-walked man,
catching the balance to the end.

The target was enticing close.
It shone emitting magic light.
There were two steps to a frail rose.
He did them, bowed toward thin ice.
The flower was in trembling hands:
its petals fell, turning to damp.

The life of the white frozen rose
was shorter in the stranger hands,
than life on ice, when scarlet dawn
touches it with light transparent rays.
The warmth of the rude hunter arms
kills the frail flower, dousing shine...

Nils did not lose the tiniest hope
to get the aim. He made more steps
and caught one more white frozen rose
but did it, taking one with plate
of ice. And there was good success.
Nils held it gently, turning back.

He reached cute Lin and stretched his hands.
The words of love flew down from lips.
But Lin's eyes were completely vain.
She said, that She had not believe
and asked for a blue lotus head
from the high mountain sacred lake...
               
                by Thea Ariss               
                24.08.2024/27.08.2025