Sitting by the window,
The maiden looks out to the garden.
Running fingers through her hair,
Twirling, twisting, curling, braiding.
And the cuckoos sing while spring flowers bloom,
As the morning light hits the dew kissed leaves.
She lets out a sigh, almost a whisper,
Dreaming, wondering, wishing, crying.
Rapunzel, waits, by the window,
For spring to find its way into her life.
Rapunzel, waits, to let her hair down.
To see the end of this strife.