On a heath sitting beneath a toadstool,
his head’s in his hands; his wings’re folded;
his fairy tail swishes, and like a fool
he’s wishing that Prince Charming’s blindfolded
state won’t continue. It’s all that twit Cinder’s
doing; the belle of the ball cast a spell.
That glass slipper’s its trigger; it hinders
all rational thought; the Prince’s not well,
not since she banished Pink. Without invite,
he can’t go; there’s no one to break the spell.
A beloved voice booms out and he takes flight.
Cinder’s gone; fairy dust falls, breaks the spell.
“I thought I’d lost you, my friend,” the Prince said.
“Promise you’ll never leave me, ‘less I’m dead.”
~ ~ ~
Even fairies have wishes and just sometimes they come true.