Sorry for the two-week silence. I'm the Fairy Godmother in the parish pantomime, twirling around like a giddy fuchsia blossom. Life begins at sixty-plus !

Here is a rather serious CINDERELLA poem.

CINDERELLA’S JOURNEY

When Cinderella set off for the ball,
Her heart was still in the ashes.
She hadn’t reshaped her self-image at all:
Thick with grime, in her mind, on her lashes.

The grit still clung under her fingernails
And etched grimy rings round her knuckles;
Forever the underdog: “ Watch when she fails!”
“Disregard pretty ribbons and buckles!”

But, lulled by the trotting of white-mice-cum-horses,
She relaxed in her finery,
Past meadows and bridges and fast water-courses,
Carried far from her slavery.

As her stooped shoulders lifted, and fingers unclenched,
Grey dust fell from her hands’ loosened grip.
Her heart shed its burden; new courage, unblenched
Lit the bright eye and sweet coral lip.

When at last she alights, with heart ready for dancing,
She steps like a lady, in grace.
In tune with the moment; no past clogs romancing.
Her freedom shines out in her face.

Now the dawning love in the prince’s eyes
Just mirrors her own loving heart.
The picture he shows her is one she knows,
A whole person; old grit spoils no part.