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Posted: May 15 2018, 12:04 AM
(Okay, I know it's late, I'm sorry! But I figured I may as well post it.)
Listen well, child, to this story of mine,
Lest a diff’rent form you wish to assume.
For in my words a lesson you will find,
That may yet save your soul from certain doom.
Long ago, in a town close to our own,
Lived a young lady with hair black as night
That flowed to her feet, and glittered and shone
As if the stars themselves had lent their light.
If only her heart could be just as pure—
She looked upon all others with disdain,
Binding them to her will through her allure
And using each person for her own gain.
Conceited, vain, taking pride in her hair,
She brushed and washed it sev’ral times a day,
While boasting that none had locks half as fair
Or waves that flowed each time their hips would sway.
Her mania grew stronger as time passed;
She no longer ate or slept, devoted
To her hair, ‘til time came she breathed her last.
(The story’s not done, it should be noted).
Although her mind might have withered away,
Her spirit lived on, her hair it possessed.
The strands formed a mouth for which to eat prey:
Unlucky trav’lers fooled by her finesse.
Remember, child, this short story of mine,
Lest you wish to become a beast most vile.
For if you do learn my lesson in time,
You’ll save your soul from becoming Mawile.