(The last line is not meant too be that far away from the previous stanza)
Once upon a time,
In a land faraway,
A little girl was trapped,
And there she would stay.
She wrote no poetry,
No stories were told,
By this girl turned into woman,
by the woman who grew old.
All the fantasies of childhood,
Locked inside her heart,
Consumed by sensible reason,
A fairy tale torn apart.
She married someone clever,
And watched her child grow.
And never thought of playgrounds,
And dreams of long ago.
Her wedding ring was plain,
She was not consumed by greed,
Though he was no Prince Charming,
With no armour or trusty steed.
She kept both glass slippers,
Firmly on her feet,
All her apples were green,
With no poison in them too eat.
And as she raised her daughter,
To avoid tragedy,
She told the girl no tales,
And read no poetry.
She brought up a young lady,
To be sensible and sane.
The child would never be dreaming,
So she would know no pain.
She never thought of castles,
For she wore no crown,
Her life full of achievements,
But she never left that town.
Her dreams stayed locked in her head,
Like a princess in her tower,
Her world lacked colour,
But disappointment never had power.
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