Sunday Scribblings - Bedtime Story

There was once a giant's daughter.
Her hair was spun candlelight,
Her voice was soft rainfall.
The giant feared her loss
and bound her to him
with chains made from the roots of mountains.
She did not weep
neither did she curse him.
She thought for a while.
She made her a gown from the tissue of mist
She snipped a girdle from the Northern Lights
She bound the North Star to her brow,
took hold of her chains
made from roots of mountains
and died.
The giant found her thus.
We turn away from his grief
which was like a black wave.
He endured, though much about him was destroyed.
Time passed...
But the Giant's daughter
who had clung with the grip of winter to her chains
made from roots of mountains
climbed hand over hand across the chasm
back to the home that waited for her.
The chains, swung and rattled as she climbed
but they did not fail her.
Like the kiss of sunrise
on the face of a cloud
so life returned to her shell.
She stretched, she smiled.
She turned to her father
and looked at the chains he had made her.
Her warm breath
crumbled them to dust.