adventures in dysthymia

Monday, June 08, 2009

CINDERELLA

She forgot tomorrow
till it was yesterday
and at the stroke of midnight
her dreams all danced away.

Her pumpkin coach had vanished;
the team, in disarray,
squeaked and fled for cover;
one slipper went astray.

Perhaps a prince, enamored,
found it where it lay
and searched the kingdom over,
her glass shoe on a tray.

Or wondering for a moment
why she didn't stay,
left it for the sweepers
like a discarded bouquet,

the aftermath of balls,
forgotten yesterday.

Stephen Brooke ©2009

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