I never much wanted a castle
A glass slipper or a rose.
I played with spindles and needles
And thought 'happy' appripo.
I never much wanted a knight
Riding off on his white horse.
I was content to think and learn and grow
And let nature take its course.
Now isn't it just fitting
That a self-proclaimed realist would be
Caught up at 16 in faerie tales
And love without a fee?
Evil always seemed to go
But faerie tales, the lie.
The Bad Guy isn't always bad
and the Heroine can cry.
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