She’s a delicate rose
Found in flowery prose
And I’m not her.
He reads seductive books
Where those kinds of looks
Are all you need.
I’ve always preferred
My words to be heard.
A different end:
Rapunzel rolls up her sleeves,
Cuts her hair, weaves
Her own ladder. Leaves.
I love this! It’s such a terrifically simple twist on the classic tale, and I have a weakness for such things.
Thank you! This poem was selected by the Committee for Melbourne to be on the Moving Galleries…