Shall we make her your tight lipped trollop,
Your faded wallflower, black and white?
Shall we veil her in a dizzying silence,
a cumbersome calm, a galloping peace?
And if she screams to be burned,
best to quench the fire with her wet-words...
with silken tip-toeing
and cotton-lipped hymns.
Shall we make her, drunken, climb Jack's bean stalk
and nimbly cut Rapunzel's hair?
Shall we crown her with a crown of barbs
and chill her red-hot blood?
And if she pleads for wings to fly,
Oh, let us not forget
to band her and brand her
And pray for her QUIET return.
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