Her tresses waving in the breeze, she makes her path down through the trees.
From the castle on the moat to the pond and waiting boat.

The day is young and still asleep but she with promises to keep,
Rows out carefully in the mist. So many frogs there to be kissed.

The frogs, used to this daily ride, each lily pad is occupied.
And as she rows out ever near their croaks are deafening to the ear.

She, sure her prince out there is found, her beating heart is joy unbound.
But still, ‘tis such a dreaded task and really quite a lot to ask.

A comely maid as ever seen to kiss these beasts, warted and green.
If not for the queen’s loving advice she would have thought about it twice.

“Promise me my little dear when your age of wed is near.
You’ll find your one and only true no matter what you have to do.

Know that what I tell you now before that day you take that vow,
This I say as to convince. You’ll kiss some frogs to find your prince.”

So this is as the legend told. A spinster now and oh so old.
Out on the pond at dawn’s first light, a princess still and not too bright.

06/09/2004