Tuesday, August 29, 2006

End of the Quest

Briar, briar, twisted tight,
remember well this lovely night,
where spell was wrought to come undone
will be completed by morning sun.
Look where she lies, asleep alone,
While father slumbers on his throne,
and scullery maids sleep on their brooms
and spiders dream while at their looms,
You cannot stop the prince this night,
Your thorns that guard fail in his sight,
When his lips touch hers, the last veil torn,
Your thorns will vanish come the morn.
The spindle's spell will come to rest,
and your leaves adorn her wedding dress.

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