The Prince

9/19/2016 01:55:00 AM

All my life I've waited for this moment,
for all tally marks in my book,
for all the night I pray in my dishabille,
I can see his handsome face from hence.

He brought his rectitude as a man,
as he hooked my hand to his.
I was sure not pretty well over the bay like the Sawney,
but it feels like we dance to the limit of the sky.

We walked through the plash
in the narrow road after the rain.
The moonlight made my dress looked even comelier,
and I relished him being here as much as him to me.

Perchance, it was something in the train,
that after the other day his rectitude was gone.
It was substituted by pusillanimity instead
with all of his tattle and obloquy of some people or me.

Was it me that raised his ideas to be a wanton,
or is he really a shoat?
That made us end up in a terrible chafe,
which I kept to defend myself despite his wiseacre.

The air was filled with peevishness that day.
My feeling was insipid as my morning coffee.
He finally said, don't go from my gripe,
but be that as it would, I was shy of trusting him.

That gripe that he put on me,
with a kiss that he inveigled on me,
have proved that he isn't a shoat, indeed.
Because at length he is turned into a frog.

--Unlike Fairytale: The Prince and the Frog

(Decided to make another poetry series to diverse the genre, set in the 19th century btw)

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