The peasant girl once took a gift,
A item from a travelling fae,
He said it's a mirror for only a queen
But never the price she'd pay
The mirror was her closest friend
He'd show her what she wanted so see
New hair, new face, a crown to wear
He told her that she must be queen
"Mirror, mirror, why should I?"
"Are you not grateful to me at all?"
His expression contorted with rage,
"After all that I've done, the gall!"
He stopped giving her small miracles,
Her perfect skin and hair,
She panicked and begged forgiveness,
He sighed, saying "It's only fair."
He never returned her beauty in full,
Although he answered her well
But when she married the king,
He made her life a hell
"Mirror mirror, on the wall,"
She'd ask, chalice in hand for show,
"Who's the fairest of them all?"
"Why, of course, a girl named Snow."
YOU ARE READING
The Witching Hour
Poetrypoetry about the wicked and the witchy || featured by WP Poetry on Oddities Unknown || #183 in poem (11/3/18)
