The Guild Fanucci

Cinderella | Part I | Part II | Part III |

Cinderella, Part I
© 2005 George Reed

I am but a feather…drifting in the hall…
Where as you know last night was held a brilliant royal ball…
I drift above a gilded throne wherein sat the King…
Who decreed there would be a host of magic things…

A ball to find a daughter…for his prince a wife…
One to cherish well and true for all of mortal life…
Someone to bring another prince to dance in royal halls…
And grow one day to lead the way whenever duty calls…

The Ball was well attended by many glittered feet…
A hundred smiles among the aisles, though few of them were sweet…
The Vizier bade me to attend and whisper quiet words…
That he might best advise the prince on rumors that I heard…

The countess thought of deviltry and sent her lads around…
Behind the thrones and through the hall where mischief might be found…
The baron thought his daughter fair, most paled at the sight…
Of cloven soul and smile droll, generally much the fright…

The minister of this or that brought with him a pair…
Of daughters he might lead before the prince’s royal stare…
I sensed there was one missing and made sure to tell the prince…
He whispered thanks as endless ranks of courtiers made him wince…

I felt a ray of light make way and stopped with all to stare…
For tiny steps echoed round the steps above us where…
Cascading gems sparkled then in bower of pure white…
A vision wrought of silk and grace stepped down into the light…

The orchestra was moved to play although nobody danced…
All were standing there amazed, the Prince was in a trance…
He stepped to her across the floor and met and took her hand…
And kissed it long and danced with her alone in all the land…

I drifted to the Vizier and said in gentle voice….
It looks as though your future king has made a royal choice…
The Vizier smiled and closed his eyes to thank the passing fates…
When clocks around began to strike….how was it come so late…

Passing nine and ten and so they made it to eleven…
We hardly noticed them hit twelve for we were all in heaven…
But one there was upon the floor who knew the stroking toll…
And fled the hall without a word as twelfth began its roll…

The Prince was taken with a spear of cold, surpassing shock…
And gave him then an evil glare unto the nearest clock…
He ran the steps out of the hall, and bent to take a thing…
Which shone with light and gave to all a shrill and glassine ring…

It was a shoe of perfect glass no hand of mortal made…
And gave of light within itself even when in shade…
The prince looked at the thing a while and then he left the hall…
People slowly drifted out, grown silent in the pall…

Morning called and I am here to wonder what may come…
From silent halls and memories can anything be done?
When one has everything there is oft forgot the weather…
But then my thoughts are rarely sought for I am just a feather