Oh woe! And rue the days she shirked her charge,
Her blue puella eyes averted, blind
To pain and sore despair, for her too large
To look too close, malicious pranks she’d find.
And so another mother came to know
The radiant, inf’nite possibility.
Malevolent perfection time would show
The first and second child were her fee.
A mother third and daughter clothed in red,
A white knight charged amid the battle fierce,
Then fell the witch, the crystal broke, and dead
Would fin’ly rest, a stone to honour each.
Let not our childish rage our futures bleed,
Lest goodly knights and witches cease to be.

2 thoughts

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s