by Nick Gisburne
He frightens tiny children with his face
They run to mother, frantic in their screams
And soon an angry mob has given chase
Their empathy is lacking, so it seems
The princess loves to fly and loves to play
She rides the summer breezes on a cloud
Descending now, she spies him, old and grey
And wonders why he gathers such a crowd
Alas, he is grotesque, she must admit
But bullies are the lowest of them all
She pelts the mob with curses till they quit
And bids the man be welcome at the ball
At sunset, as her birthday guests depart
He stabs the royal princess through the heart
