The Untold Tale Of Tom and Zellandine

While the beauty slumbers

Comatose but rasping

With ursine bravado

Aphrodite calls on our prince to pluck

Her precious fruit from the slit of love

To wake the maiden (and silence her plaint)

Innocent that he is

Our Trojan searches high and low

For an alcove, crevice

Or even vitré armoire

Deciphering neither ripe fruit

Nor ready container

He cries to the goddess

Who outraged by virginal tears

Inflames his passion

The doubloons drop


Taking his awl in hand

He plucks and plucks the promised pear

Threads the gimlet

Breaks the caul

Until the damsel rouses

All sticky from sleep she cries

What is this palaver?

Oh Sleeping Beauty, I am Tom

Tom Thomb the Piper’s Son

The Goddess has bid me wake you thus

To break the curse and win the prize

From whence you rest

All slumb’rous as a cadaver

From eternal sleep’s great death

With la mort by comparison

Quite little

Well my lad you’ve tried the bacon

Before you’ve bought the pig

You’ve played the pipe

And played the fiddle

And played a song more tune than riddle

Hey diddle do

Hey diddle diddle

While we wait the nuptial cake

By such swordplay you’ll be king

My black cat is lamenting

And requires more of such attentions

A little stroke a little milk

Will give the purr to the pretty thing

While my father is a piper and my mother is a beast

You’ll find I’m just a common lad

Travelled from the east

Just a ‘prentice shoemaker

Neither prince nor pauper

And while that ermine looks best pleased

I’ll be howling down the streets

But if you harken

To that clipper clopper

A prince with shining hair

And gleaming teeth

And a horse probably named Philip

Is coming hither

I can see him from this tower

Through the wind-er

Instead of using the garden path

He is cutting his way mightily

Through thorns

I’m sure if you turn again to slumber

He will prick you from your sleep

With a little kiss

For the none the wiser

Do not wear horns

You avail yourself of the window

I will unprick my thumb

And rest this sweet cherry on my lips

To fulfil the Goddess’s wish

And slumber some

I hope he’s not too long

I’m kind of peckish

If you ever need a boot

I am skilled with finest vair

Or just a wooden clog

You will find me at the fair

I can spin a slip of glass

That will unbreak itself

And after all the wedded bliss

All the feasting done

Dear Zellandine upon her shelf

Collected shoes of every kind

Blessed by the Goddess every one

Made by our apprentice

Fate’s accomplice Tom



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