Poor little child! A magical maiden?

A lonely waif. Lost her mother,

adrift from her father, unloved by

         stepmom and sisters.

Poor little child! What can she do?

Sweep, clean, mend, cook, launder, sew

until fingers raw, body exhausted,

        and poor head aches.

Evil sisters to a ball, leaving Cinderella

behind, poor thing. Handsome prince

back in town, looking for love

        meant to last.

Cinderella sings to birds, lovely friends,

who sew a dress with finest thread

and call godmother to work her magical,

        mystical tricks.

Dressed so fine in carriage rich

off she goes, to meet the prince

at festival dear. Dancing arm in arm

        they fall in love.

Time flies by. Looks exchanged.

Love blooms to marvelous heights.

Clock strikes. Time to flee

        back to her home.

Work and work for sisters mean.

All she does is cook and clean.

Another ball for ladies fine,

        but she can’t go.

Poor Cinderella left at home.

Magic works and off she goes.

Sees the prince dressed so fine.

        They dance and dance.

Love deepens, but time to leave.

She runs to catch her special ride.

Lost a shoe of minuscule size.

        That’s just too bad.

Prince decrees all must try

special slipper on. Ladies grieve,

feet too big to squeeze inside.

        It’s way too sad.

Cinderella smiles, steps up tall,

slips in tiny foot. Prince rejoices,

finds his lost lovely love.

        They woo and wed.

Moral is:

Beauty comes when least

planned, so keep your eyes

    expectantly wide open.