Little Rabbit's Glen

Hunched, mottled,

Dark yet pale,

Ashen skin,

Bright blue eyes,

Afagddu,

I whisper, reaching out to graze my hand along one mottled cheek,

You rise as a comorant,

darkened,

yet filled with a beauty your mother fails to see.

Yearning for your well-being,

she brews inevitable poisons,

yet as I stand,

I see you.

Perfect in your imperfection.