La Mort du Lutin

A slender figure,
Screaming Shakespeare,
She was once strong and tall.

A lightning rod,
The might of God,
The rumbling of her fall.

An open field,
A mental shield,
What is it for?

Don’t let it go on,
Protect the sacred bond,
A friendship chore.

Whisper a lie,
Kiss her goodbye,
She’s done all she could.

Taste her lips
With your fingertips,
She’s leaving for good.

The calming of the rage,
The tearing of the page,
Burn the books of the past.

Hemlock for the writer,
Wormwood for the painter,
The canvas will not last.

Murder the fascist,
Poison the artist,
De bon matin.

The hanging of herself,
The death of the elf,
La mort du lutin.