Painted lips so red,
Skin so very pale,
So silent, almost dead,
And yes, she is real.
Cheeks as white as fallen snow,
Lips as red as blood that flows,
Hair as black as a ravens wing,
Voice that is made to sing,
She is only a fairy tale,
Yet she is so very real.
Seven little men are talking,
While the maiden is out walking,
And an old crone plots and plans,
To kill the lovely maiden.
Poisoned apple, handsome prince,
Maiden awoken with a kiss,
Is our tale so unlike this,
No it isn’t, and I wish,
That we could happily forever live.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem