The girl awoke with feverish fingers
Was she playing with her nightmares again?
Every night the same old story
No fairytale in sight.
But one subdued morning
She waded out into the world.
And stubbled upon a glistening head piece
A sparkling crown made of the purest stones.
Her heart leapt in spasms of happy
Clutching it close to her warmth.
That night she slept with her encrusted attire
Sinking deep into the night.
And when she awoke in her reverie
No longer was she all alone.
Unicorns demure and graceful
And Technicolor skies.
Robed in a dress a flourish of silk
In her reflection not a monster in sight.
But when she woke from the deepest slumber
Her crown was nowhere to be seen.
For as she lay there sleeping
It fell many miles to the floor.
And now as her eyes are prizing open
She will know it was not the crown
But her belief that wrote her fairytale.
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