Paper Mache were him and her,

The girl with wilted hair.

Then snow parted way for green earth,

Where she grew into herself.

When sidewalks smelled of lemonade,

That girl long disappeared;

Into a fairer, stronger lass,

With hair spun into gold.

 

The gilded crown upon her head,

It was not tainted from his ruin-

Instead, it furthered, strengthened her,

Into a glowing queen.

When leaves renewed that summer day,

Her majesty was royal still;

Not ruined by corruption,

Her life would only grow.

 

Marble stone were he and she,

The girl with golden hair.

No kingdom could depart their fate,

And unlike the seasons, they stood still.

And when she spoke of unkindness before the prince,

On his face was only love;

Love for the girl who stood before him,

With hair spun into gold.