Wednesday, June 3, 2009


High in a tower, a princess was kept; 
Her legend was known through the town. 
One night, to her prison a handsome prince crept 
To ask her to let her hair down.   

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, please let down your hair,” 
The charming prince called from the ground, 
Then peered up as high as his peepers could stare 
As two massive pigtails unwound.   

He took a deep breath and he got a good grip, 
Then started his treacherous climb. 
Barely half a foot up, though, he felt his hand slip 
On a patch of grease, dandruff, and grime.   

“Holy cow!” yelled the prince as he fell to the dirt, 
“Climbing hair’s harder work than I thought!” 
But he rolled up his sleeves, rubbed his back where he hurt, 
And then back up the pigtails he fought.   

Three feet up, he got used to the dandruff and grease, 
No reason to grumble or grouse, 
But then, when he thought that his troubles would cease, 
His finger was chomped by a mouse!   

“What the heck?!” yelled the prince as his fingertip bled, 
“No one said there’d be rampaging mice! 
I’m starting to wish I had just stayed in bed. 
Hey, could somebody get me some ice?”   

But since it was summer, and so long ago, 
And freezers are hard to invent, 
He sighed, sucked his finger, then groaned “Here we go . . .” 
And started once more his ascent.   

He gritted his teeth and he dodged all the mice, 
As he thought of the princess above. 
He lost track of counting at seventy lice— 
Not too much when you’re seeking true love.   

Then he jostled a nest tucked behind a wide curl 
And a bird pecked him right in the ear! 
Not to mention the shifty-eyed razor-toothed squirrel 
Who bit a big chunk from his rear!   

You or I might give up, but this prince?  Not a chance! 
He climbed to the top of the tower, 
Then brushed past the princess—no time for romance— 
Found a toolbox and built her a shower!   

Then he ran to the window and jumped back outside. 
He was gone for an hour or two. 
He returned with a jumbo-sized gift for his bride— 
A big bottle of “Ye Olde Shampoo.”   

“But what does it do, dear?” she asked of her prince, 
So brave and so handsome and sweet. 
“Just read it,” he snapped.  “First you lather, then rinse, 


  1. Andy's the prolific poet of hilarious chicanery! I couldn't frown, if I wanted to, and I don't!

  2. Hilarious! Never stopped to think of what an unfortunate state her hair must have been in... That was one persistent prince!