Princess Aurora

She was born on a golden day,

Her hair the colour of flaxen hay.

The good faeries came to bless her name,

To give her beauty, grace and fame.

They all came to celebrate,

Then turned a curse by fate,

Stormed in the Evil Carabosse,

Ablaze with hate, and cross.

“Why didn’t we invite her?”

Cried Aurora’s mother,

“A princess with a curse?”

Held closer by the nurse.

“On your twentieth birthday,

Finger pricked, you will lay

Sleeping like the dead,

Nevermore to tread!”

Swore the evil faery,

Laughter as far as her magic to carry.

That was the last they saw of her,

Faraway with magic’s lure.

Then Aurora, on a golden day,

Her hair the colour of flaxen hay,

Finger pricked, she lay

On her twentieth birthday.

Silent stood the Lilac Faery,

“Aurora, rest, until you marry,

Wait till true love’s first kiss,

A prince, impossible to miss.”

Asleep fell the castle folk

No movements of a yoke,

Dormant for a hundred years,

Lilac Faery had no fears.

Along came the Prince Lairs,

Up and down the winding stairs,

Till he came to her room,

Aurora’s blood on the loom.

She was born on a golden day,

Hair the colour of flaxen hay,

Received True Love’s first kiss,

Romance to hard to miss.

“Will you marry me,

I love you, you see!”

“And so do I!”

In the brightened sky.

She was born on a golden day,

Hair the colour of flaxen hay,

Received True Love’s first kiss,

Romance to hard to miss.