The Prince's Tale
The prince rolled his eyes.
He twirled his mustache.
He emitted several sighs,
Shoulders shrugged with panache.
His palms opened to the skies.
“Memory can be slippery”, he said,
“Like mud. Sometimes it dies.
Or then again, it may be fed
By loss. I remember well the day
The princess spotted me, bent down,
Kissed me on the nose. Without delay
I felt panic, leaped upon her gown.
My bones creaked and grew
And in a snap, I joined humanity.
No longer I was the frog I knew.
She proclaimed love! This seemed insanity!
But, she was determined, so, we wed.
She did admit that, for a former frog
I was not too bad in bed.
She snored and slept like a log.
To be a man, I accept
Held some compensation, some surprise.
I converse like an adept
But retain an appetite for flies.”
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
(1207 - 1273)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
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