According to the legends of old,

There is a lady fair

With a face so wondrous to behold

It hurts to breathe the air.

She dwells up in a castle

With only seven dwarves

And it is they who aptly handle

All the laborious chores

But the strange dwarves are not

Always what they seem

For you would be distraught

To hear of their murderous deeds!

They are Pride, Lust,

Envy, Wrath, Gluttony,

Sloth, and Greed!

And it is they, the conniving dwarves,

Who will often mislead

Princes of purest virtue

Away from their perceptive steeds.

Their mistress

Is Rapunzel,

Who the commoners think a princess

And often try to rescue

As a damsel in distress!

Her lips are an ethereal shimmer

Her skin as white as snow

And her hair a dark glimmer—

The sleek wing of a crow

But her wide, wide eyes

Are a rusty blood-red.

The only fault in her disguise—

Forever appearing as if they bled.

The lives of a thousand men

Are not enough to quench

Her eternal, scorching thirst

For it is a life-long curse.

So when a prince ventures near,

She sends out her henchmen

To ever so subtly steer

Their attention

Towards their final frontier.

There, at the foot of the tower

The sins kneel, weeping

Clutching in their hands funeral flowers

For Rapunzel is "sleeping".

Then the fated words are said:

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,"

First appears an ebony braid,

Then herself, the maiden fair.

Cradled by silken tranquility,

She rests in peace,

Far away from reality,

For she is deceased.

But the prince rushes ahead,

And kisses her tender lips

Stroking her ebony head

As if bewitched.

Suddenly she awakens,

And delicately inhales.

Then she is taken

Into his embrace.

She smiles then—

A cruel, hard grin.

Time and time again,

She will always win.

From the folds of her dress

She draws a shining red apple

And with a tender caress,

Hands it to the prince to end the battle.

"Eat it," she commands.

And without hesitation, he takes a bite.

Submits to her demand;

Now he no longer has his sight

For the apple was poisoned,

Filled with the venom of snake.

And no ointment

Can ever take away the ache.

Rapunzel prefers her prey

To be calm and still

When she has her first meal in days,

Perched like a bird on her windowsill.

And, inviting the sins

To join the feast,

She opens up a vein

To have a long drink.

They say there is a tower

Just past the last street

And every time Rapunzel devours

Another tender treat,

For the townspeople,

Darker grows the dawn

As they whisper and weep in the church steeple…

And the legend of Rapunzel goes on.