(Part of the Princess Series of Poems)
Disney’s original princess, white as snow, lips of red
as blood, and hair as ebony, a
great beauty, was but
seven years old, as the old Grimm
story goes, left to die
at the hands of the huntsman,
ordered by the wicked
stepmother – always the stepmother
– in a jealous rage,
mature beauty comparing herself to
youthful charm,
her vanity ultimately her own
demise, the only ending
fit for this fabled tale; and the handsome
prince wanted
not Snow White, no princess
rescued, but her beauty
to gaze upon, her crystal coffin a
decorative display
to feed his own vain attempt to
capture beauty,
to keep it for himself, a piece of
art, flaunted perhaps:
a far cry from Disney’s storied
princess brought to life
on the silver screen and into our
hearts..
Ah, but the dwarves now, as then, all
seven in number,
are the heroes in this fairy tale,
the real keepers
of Snow White’s beauty, taking her
in, protecting her,
stern advice and warnings against
strangers and evil,
loving her, heartfelt, not for her
beauty alone, but because
she needed them, even in death’s
sleep, and they, in turn, her.
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