Bardic Tales

The Fairest to His Eyes

The apple of her father's eye

Maid Cynthia was grand

Until the day his widowed heart

Was strained beyond demand

The lovely harpy he had wed

To guide his daughter's path

Showed her claws and sharpened beak

At his untimely death

The girl who once had pride of place

Now maid to fetch and clean

The daughters of her father's wife

Were, likewise very mean

Cyn do this and Cyn to that

And sweep the fire of ash

Our mother said we're royalty

And you are naught but trash

Alone among this pecking flock

She oft despaired of life

And only friends of wrens and mice

Gave respite from the strife

The lazy wench, now head of house

Was fearing of the attic

Her pampered offspring caught her fear

And amplified the static

The stuffy loft made Cynda free

When not at beck and call

They didn't know the treasures there

The wonder of it all

The chests of clothes her mother wore

And books her father read

Connected daughter to her source

And filled her hungry head

Now in this land there was a Prince

A kindly courtly boy

Who knew 'twas time he set his roots

And give his Queen Mum joy

A proclamation called to court

Every maid of age

Present herself to King and Queen

And Prince at center stage

Maid Cynthia was fair of face

And wise beyond her years

More refined of grace and mien

Than those who caused her tears

The harpy couldn't countenance

Her daughters lacking fate

So thinned the competition

She locked the attic grate

But little did she know of worth

Of magic in the land

How Cynda would get help that way

And tease the Prince's hand

Her mother's spirit, fairy like

Would open up the door

And steer her through the dancing forms

Upon the ballroom's floor

Enchanted was the Prince by she

The fairest to his eyes

The harpy saw her plans devolve,

Then start to craft her lies

The clock was striking dead of night

Sweet Cynda took a fright

She had to win the race back home

Or face the harpy's might

Her rapid feet threw dainty shoes

To speed her homeward bound

So used to bare feet in the dirt

She flew across the ground

The Prince bereft that she had left

Shut the party down

He found the cast off dainty shoe

While tracking toward the town

Began the search to fill the shoe

With toes that fit just right

Not knowing when he found the girl

He'd end her weary fight

The harpy pecked but could not touch

The maiden with her bile

The punishment for what she'd done

Appropriately vile

The Prince and Cynda married well

Then reigned as King and Queen

They lived happy one and all

As we have often seen.

Richard Higley © May 2012