My Fairy Tale

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fairy tale

 If I could write a fairy tale,

Sipping some bitter ginger ale,

I would begin the spin,

In the forbidden dungeons of wool spins,

Where I would prickle my little finger,

And fall asleep, deeply; linger

Then wait to feel my prince’s kiss,

To awaken the beautiful miss.

 

You would then be my knight in shining armour,

I the damsel in distress, hurting without a murmur

The dismayed princess for whom you get your white cape muddy,

Swinging me atop that royal white horse; ruddy

Then we would ride away into the wind,

Into the beautiful sunset that would forever us bind.

 

I would be Cinderella, cleaning the cellars

For whom you would deign your dignity and royalty; zealous

Seeking me out to presumptuously return my glass slipper,

Carefully slipping my dainty foot into it deeper,

Smoothing my soft toes arranged like a corn field,

And holding me in your arms, forever my shield.

 

Perhaps the tables would turn,

You would be the frog in the urn,

And I the unpredictable princess,

Whose kiss would be priceless,

Maybe I would kiss many frogs,

Big Frogs, Ugly frogs, Fat frogs, Noisy frogs,

But my quest for you wouldn’t wane,

Till kiss I my prince and ride royally; on a white mane.

 

Hey, you could be the unsightly beast,

And I the aesthete girl, kissed by the mist

I could be afraid and turn my back,

But that would be the cowardly act of a timid buck,

My, would I have loved your gory growl,

Or perhaps, it would have made me crawl

But to you, to help you, free you, break you out

Then we would love and live passionately, as we ought.

 

If I could write My Fairy Tale,

I would change not any part of you, My Fairy Tale

You would be you and I would be I,

And boy, would we see eye to eye,

 

But baby life ain’t a fairy tale,

Sometimes it’s as bitter as ale,

Yet I love the romance, royalty, loyalty and glamour

For which I always clamour.

 

So, Somehow, Always, Forever, Faithfully: Won’t you be My Fairy Tale?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I have always been a Lover of Stories. They indeed are a healing art. My desire is that the bold strokes of my writing shall leave lasting impressions on the souls of my readers. That these stories will grow us as much as we grow them. It is an honour to be indulged in caring about words that have meaning, breathed into life via the labourious Love of a writer! Gracias!
  • Mwangi Kaguku

    Nice;
    What started as simple words has grown to an eternal journey,
    Artistic girl with poetic hands, and mind,
    ……………………..
    ………………………,
    If I were a poet like you I would have definitely added two more lines for a cover.

    • Lucy Ngotho

      Hey Francis, thanks for that compliment. It is a high regard to be considered poetic. I think I am waiting for those extra lines