Princess
The blonde would break into song
But before she could become a singer
She pricked her finger
’Twas a spindle
So, she couldn’t mingle
Doomed, forever single
Wicked witch, what an itch
In the tower, couldn’t even shower
She lay sleeping
Until a prince came peeping
He woke her with cold water
With his muscle took her to his castle
Her life on the mend
That was the end
Copyright Anna Treffer
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