When I was in highschool I had a pretty sweet English teacher. She introduced me to several notable authors and poets. She also taught the college English course I later took. Unfortunately, I wasn't the best student and often failed to complete my work on account of being lazy. Still, she encouraged me to do my best and tried to accommodate my habits as best as she could.
One day, we were tasked with composing a short poem that would be read to the class on the following day. Naturally I blew off the assignment, forgot all about it, and half-panicked the next day when the other students began reading their work to the class. What follows is the hastily scrawled poem that I wrote on the spot, as it was the day I penned it, which somehow scored me an "A." Although tempted, I haven't changed it from its original form. Enjoy!
A Stitchwork Affair
There was an old Crone, that lived all alone,
Wishing her heartache away.
From hook laden walls, hung porcelain dolls,
Entertainment for her day.
Females were those, with slipper clad toes,
Mute during her play.
Yet silent still, in dark evening chill,
They all remained that way.
Believed all but lost, came from floor boards tossed,
A Stitchwork Knight in fray.
This poor doll fought, as if all were not,
The Crone’s cat every day.
For his maiden pled, from her shelved bed,
So this cat he must slay.
Wily is he, that ferocious Henry,
Doth The Knight did pray.
And on full moon bright, in the darkest of light,
Came the doll through hay.
With scissor in hand, you will understand,
Henry became prey.
From barstool he glared, whilst his maiden stared,
All aswoon and fey.
For the distance too great, from pillar to plate,
No flowers that May.
So returning to gloom, in the dust from the broom,
Our hero rests all day.
One day, he swore, should he be never more,
Freedom for his maiden of clay.
The Crone could not bare, A Stitchwork Affair,
Unknowing in bed she lay.
From far off they yearn, while within they burn,
As The Crone and her dolls now play.
Love,
Smiley Grimm
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