Hope Justice

A Curse to You, Briar Rose

Your limp and sterile King
celebrates his newfound virility:
You are a blessing, 
     Beautiful babe.
The while Kingdom feasts.
but thirteen is unlucky,
     like
     an uninvited fairy.
In your fifteenth year
     a prick,
     and then a century of slumber.
O Sleeping Beauty,
as an Old Witch I die
     alone.
No spell or potion could give me
     A Happily Ever After—