Once upon a time,

There lived a little girl.

Her hair was black, her skin tan,

her eyes sparkling with innocent knowledge.

In her hand sat,

a tattered picture book.

The cover was cracked, the corners crinkled,

its story well-loved with wear and tear.

Within those persuasive pages,

there lived an older girl.

Her hair was blonde, her skin white,

her heart burning with suppressed curiosity.

“Cinderella, I want this!”

“Cinderella, make me that!”

Her sisters would yell, her stepmother stern

while the cat smirked in a corner.

Yet, the older girl endured.

She loved all, turning none away.

She fed the chickens extra, sneaking some to the mice,

expecting no reward.

The younger girl reads,

indignant with anger.

How dare there by anyone good in the world

not honored for their virtues?

Then one day, the older girl found a dress in her room.

Spun by the animals, it flowed and flowed.

From her heart, gratitude poured and poured.

Then, like her dress, it was ripped to shreds.

But not to worry!

Here comes the fairy godmother,

doing more than just rescuing her.

Cinderella felt like a princess in her glittering dress.

She arrived at the palace,

capturing the Prince with one look.

At midnight, it all came to an end,

the glass slipper the only memorabilia.

The older girl returned to ordinary life,

waiting to be saved by her Prince Charming.

She mused on and on,

eventually betting her happiness on that one night.

Cinderella was placated,

and the burn of her curiosity mellowed,

but the younger girl didn’t move on –

why the glass slipper? And why the Prince?

The younger girl questioned and questioned.

In her quest for an answer, she read and read

until the words of the book were printed in her mind.

Yet, there was still no conclusion.

Finally, she learned.

This was the meager reward for the good.

That and a Prince.

What good was a Prince to a genuine “why?”

So the book got swept under the bed,

and Cinderella was forgotten by the younger girl.

Her hair was still black, her skin still tan,

but the sparkle of innocent knowledge faded.

An ember burst from the ashes,

growing into an ambitious fire.

It burned the words from her mind,

and the pages from her memories.

Others could have their happy endings,

with Princes and glass slippers,

She would keep her indignation and “why?”

and live happily ever after.