This morning is bleak and dreary,
The lake is frozen and cold;
The prince is making me weary
Of all of the stories he's told.
I've seen all his quests for vengeance,
I've counted his spoils of war,
I've relayed all of his messages,
And now I'm quite terribly bored.
He's crude, he's foul,
He never says thank you or please;
He never stays quiet, he always yells,
And his britches smell of old cheese.
I cannot bear to be near
A man so lacking in refinement;
He's got not an ounce of respect,
And should be in solitary confinement.
He's repulsive, repugnent,
A blight on the land;
Why, the very birds won't eat
From his murderous hands.
Oh! If only I could escape
This horrid, ***** man!
If only I could save myself...
Oh wait! I can!
So, I think I'll go find a dragon,
And strike up a bargain for gold;
Because princes are tasty with ketchup-
Or, at least, so I'm told.
;)
A rewrite of a poem I made for my second grade teacher when I lived in Utah. To Miss Bird, the original hero of my education- you tough old bird you. :p
