Gone are the scenes of verdure
Where the tired mare rests
And the tepid soul flits
When Faerie Queen jaunts
On her chariot of two unicorns
With fairies and changelings as courtiers
Following the trail of fancies
Looking for mortal recruits
Willing or unwilling as subjects
becoming more than the mortals
Less than the immortals
In exchange of magic promises
In the guise of fantastic deals
With the kindly counselors
To whom I willingly will lose
Every trace I have in this world
Without regrets, not even memories,
Until the compass of Fortune’s Wheel
Moves to the city of drifting angles.
A Cat in the Mirror 