Rapunzel, fine Rapunzel, let down your golden hair
Won’t you descend from your high tower, beauty oh so fair?
Wind flows, mournfully singing, through the castle’s ramparts
“Which Prince Charming will heal Rowena’s broken heart?”

Day melts away, snarling darkness enters the room,
Greedily enfolding all but the lady in shadow’d gloom.
Still her steadfast lantern glows, resolute and brave,
Yet knowing it can never offer the company she craves.

Outside her window stretches cold freedom, so picturesque,
But inside her mind dwell foul demons and monsters grotesque.
Around her fractured starlight falls broken to the floor,
As her world implodes, jagged and lightless forever more.

She is lovely as a statue, a breathtaking monument to grief,
And neither music, words nor wisdom penetrate to oblige relief.
No salty tears are wept to sully deathly perfect skin,
Though screams shudder through her, their noise trapped within.

River flows, trees whisper, clouds float, moon descends.
Muttered words fall like rain from the lips of concerned friends;
Angrily they lament, as her fragile soul is ripped apart
“Who, Salazar, who, can mend Rowena’s shattered heart?”