Mama Gothel

Little monarch sits high in her tower
Peering at the hysteria playing out below
Ash-hued locks fall across her pale porcelain face
As she gazes out at the mighty windmill
Looming upwards like a protective parent
Of which she'd never known
She stands as tall as her paltry frame will allow
And she spins
And she twirls
Around and around until she up and takes flight
Higher and higher
Above the ample archways
Beyond the battle still raging below
Casting away the conceited crusaders
Dismissing the diabolical dragons
Escaping the ever afters.
[END SCENE]

Molly Woodford