12 December 2012
She leaned on her broom and said with a sigh: 'I'm so sick of chores and I wish time would fly.'
But this was no fairytale, no good end came, Every day for poor Cinders, exactly the same.
She'd wake and she'd wash her stepmother's toes, She'd wipe down the floors and powder mum's nose.
She'd sigh and she'd wish for a prince to come near, Crying at night, for no one to hear.
No talking mice, just silence and clocks, Teasing away with their 'ticks' and their 'tocks'.
So reality was, Cinderella: a maid, And in this reality, forever she stayed.
Cinderella's Reality. • Opuss № I