Stave 7
In her dream, Elisa flew high and airy
To the cloud castle of the beautiful fairy,
Fata Morgana, who was strangely familiar,
Resembling the old woman who told her
About the eleven swans with golden crowns.
Morgana said, to free her brothers from the spell,
Elisa must be strong and brave; to do it well,
Withstand agonising pain in fingers and hands
From picking nettles that grew on the land
In the churchyard and around the cave.
The stinging nettles would burn her skin,
But she must crush them under her feet
Until they turned to flax, which she must spin
And knit into eleven shirts, one for each swan,
And release them from the enchantment.
However, from the start
Until the last shirt was thrown
Elisa must not speak a word
Or it would stab her brothers
Like a dagger in their hearts.
Morgana took Elisa’s hands,
Touched them to the nettles,
Which burned like fire – and Elisa woke.
In the light of day she saw the spiteful weeds
And grasped them until they burned and blistered
Her soft, white hands
But she stamped each nettle and span them into flax.
At sundown her brothers feared for their sister
And her sinister silence; perhaps their evil stepmother
Had cast another spell.
Then they saw her blistered hands
And
Her youngest brother wept warm tears
That fell upon her skins,
Removing blisters and pain.
All through the night
And all the next day
She picked, crushed, span and knitted flax
Until one shirt was ready –
And then she started on the next.
© Kim M. Russell, 2016
Image found on Pinterest
writing in north norfolk 