It's All a Matter of Taste

 

Spinning, spinning, spinning
that’s all I’m allowed to do.
Spin this stupid straw
into cloth of gold.
He’s going to kill me
when all the straw is gone,
so I have spun a cunning plan.

Every night when he’s asleep
I carefully unwind
all the work I’ve done that day.
I pray that he won’t rumble me
or tumble me,
until my hero  comes for me.

But who’s this monstrous goblin
come to rescue me?
He’s not what I expected -
I think I’ll change my plan -
My taskmaster is not so bad,
I’ll take him for my man.

For We Write Poems, who suggest we write as a character in a fairy story.  I changed the ending – I didn’t fancy Rumpelstiltskin.

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