All those frogs you snogged.
Not one prince found in disguise
Or enchanted under glamour.
All the while a reptile.
Not one magical surprise
To make your heart beat like a hammer.
Love's perfect kiss foretold, wasted on lips turned cold
By a silver pond, now overgrown with scum,
As your golden locks, so long, are fading grey.
The turret stands forlorn, all tangled round with thorn
And you realise your prince will never come.
No bedtime story happy end today.
All those princes without a princess.
Not one to break your curse
Or face hardship to claim your charms.
All married to witches or plain bitches.
Not one bard composed a verse
To describe how true love fought his way into your arms.
Although you prick your thumb and eat poison apples by the ton,
There is no sign of singing sword or flying steed
To slay the dragon guard and breach the castle gate,
So you sleep the centuries past in your coffin made of glass
While princes carouse in banquet halls with flasks of mead,
Relating tales of how they bravely cheated fate.
