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Rated: E · Poetry · Comedy · #682621
My pet name is Rapunzel, but I got a long awaited hair cut soon after writing this poem.
How Rapunzel got a hair cut

-----By Lydia Davidson

A long time ago, I lived in a tower,
and each day at the appointed hour,
I'd hear a voice, my name call out,
it was always, always an ugly shout.

"Rapunzel,Rapunzel let down your hair",
was as usual the croak, that came from down there,
I thought and I wondered why she won't use the lift;
And insisted on using what she called my "gift".

"O my dear wicked witch," I began to say,
"may I cut my hair today?"
"What! A hair cut" she began to shout,
"me thinks your mind has totally gone out."

"Why do you want to cut your tresses?
Why they go so well with all your dresses?"
"That may be the case, I sadly agree,
but there's no one up here except you and me."

Another day gone by, that I've begged and pleaded,
but she won't relent, my request is unheeded.
She climbs down again as her visit ends,
leaving my tresses with more split ends.

Then, one day as soon as she'd gone,
and I was just sitting and singing a song,
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel", I heard some one say,
but this time the voice was more merry and gay.

This voice is more tenor, to myself I say,
besides,twice she never visits on the same day,
I looked down below and what did I see?
A handsome young fellow looking at me.

"Well what do you want?" I said as I bent,
as down the window my long hair I lent.
He held it and climbed it, quite swiftly I see,
without the slightest of trouble to me.

"My lady you have such lovely tresses,
I'm sure they go well with all of your dresses."
" Oh no! not another one," my mind wandered on
as like the old witch, he, sang the same song!

"What do you want?" I know I was rude,
from the looks of him, he looked quite shrewd.
"Well my lady," he started," What can I say?"
"I've heard you cry out, for a hair cut each day!"

"So how can you help?" I said to the man,
for it seemed, as if he had come with a plan.
"Well Rapunzel you see, a barber am I,
and I've come here especially, hearing your cry."

"A barber what's that?" the man heard me shout,
"for a long time," I explained, "I haven't been out"
"Oh don't worry my dear, just come sit right here,
and I'll give you a hair cut to last you a year."

"A hair cut," I say, "that was all I could ask,
and now you are here to fulfill the task"
"Now Rapunzel my dear, come and sit very still,
and like this a while you must sit here until,

I've done with your hair and say you can move,
and thus in the land, again my name prove.
So I sat there quite still and waited until,
I saw the sunset, beyond yonder hill.

"Alright I'm done," he finally said,
and with that a smile on his face slowly spread,
he handed me a mirror, I looked in to see,
a totally changed and different me.

"A beauty unrivaled you are in the land,"
and with that he offered in marriage his hand.
I gladly accepted, for I knew it would be,
the freedom for so long , I had longed to see.

I left her a note, along with my tresses,
and all of my pretty and beautiful dresses.
For the last time my hair as a rope was then dropped,
as down my own hair, for the first time I trod.

The next time, the witch climbed up my hair,
was shocked to find the room so bare,
then after a while, when too dumb to speak,
she heard at the window a swing and a creak.

"Hello," said a voice, "may I join you inside?
I've come here, you see, to find me a bride."
"You've come here too late," said the witch to the prince,
"Rapunzel has fled and I've not seen her since."

Well, happy am I and indeed very glad,
for the prince you see, was sadly quite mad.
For although very rich, he wasn't quite smart,
and offered the witch a place in his heart.

And soon it was heard throughout the land,
that the prince, the witch wedded in a ritual quite grand,
and adding, as extensions my hair to her tresses,
the witch is quite happy, now wearing my dresses.

And so at the end of my story I've come,
a tale not heard off by anyone,
of Rapunzel, her barber, a witch and a prince,
a story that's changed over time ever since.



© Copyright 2003 Lydia Davidson (lydia at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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