Perhaps The Thirteenth Fairy Wept At Home

perhaps the thirteenth fairy wept at home

under her polka dot toadstool barely

kept from the monsoons

bewildered and bedazzling; why she cried

to the cloudy skies do I never get invited anywhere?

she used her time like Cinderella, mending their socks.

putting up strawberry, elderberry jams. is that enough,

she wondered? then she swept their stairs and tuckered out,

though she was lighter than fluff, she slept through

their tiptoeing out without her.

then, the Princess came and it was just too much

to be the only one in the Kingdom not there.

so she party crashed the christening;
 glimpsing the Princess, rose-like, fair.

and thought to do her a kindness.

sleep one hundred years she wished to their despair.

sparing her 100 years of War.

mary angela douglas 28 november 2014