The wicked old witch was a toil-and-trouble knockout,
thus when the prince fell hard from the west tower wing,
it was neither fright nor disgust that ruined his balance,
it was passion:
He is not a fan of Rapunzel’s
long flaxen tresses
that look more like rope
than is humanly normal.
Rapunzel’s just a fancy name for lettuce.
Yet, he feigns love to her
and she lets down her ladder-rung plaits,
which he climbs.
At the top, his eyes stop
on the redheaded witch,
silken hair spiraled tightly in ringletted flames.
She grins an explosion
of shocking white teeth,
He longs to cast tongue
through that wishing-well fire,
softly reeling in crimson-moist lips!
But her wicked pizzazz melts his footing.
He falls, ninety feet, towards the brambles.