She once invited me for tea.Wide-eyed, run-down, Her hair tight in a bun.Words formed like frost on a window,But each time she spokeShe burned her tongue.

Turns out her Godmother Was no fairy, never turned a pumpkin Into anything but a pie. No gown, no prince, No enchanted evening. No lost Glass slipper. All lies, lies, lies!

Instead, she leads An average life.Got a job at a fast-food place.Married an accountant From Kentucky, has three kids – Phillip, Greta and Grace.

Happy endings do deceive.Who’s seen a Prince Leave a maiden on her own?Fairytales varyIn their form – who needs A castle as their home?

Smiling, her nerves begin to calm,As she swirls her teaIn three-quarter time. To clean the fireplaceIs an eternal chore, still–Cinderella doesn’t really mind.