My handmaid’s fingers, all torn up and raw,
with one final tug, she’ll tie off the bow.
My corset so tight, a breath I can’t draw,
I’ll slip on the dress, I’m ready to go.

Off we descend from the castle above,
tonight he’ll be waiting down by the stream.
Driver don’t kill us before I know love,
to meet my fair prince beneath the moon’s beam.

The horses barreling out of control.
Into the air then crashing back down,
the carriage breaks free as we start to roll,
a ruckus so loud we woke half the town.

Terror in his eyes and a terrible squeal,
my poor prince laid down beneath the front wheel.

Written for Chel Owen’s Terrible Poetry Contest (2022/01/22) at chelowens.com
Painter: Unknown.
Copyright 2022 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.