Words and Music by Mar­cyKate Con­nolly
This will be an operetta with two pri­mary char­ac­ters: the nar­ra­tor and the knight. There will also be three small female parts: Rapun­zel, Sleep­ing Beauty (Aurora), and Snow White. The frame­work of this piece will be one act with three scenes, a pro­logue, and an epi­logue. The basis for this piece is the poem “Fairy Tale,” which will be sung by the nar­ra­tor and cho­rus. The knight and the three princesses will not sing actual words; they will sing on vowel sounds only. This will be a very comedic and sar­cas­tic operetta. The part below is the poem the nar­ra­tor will sing.

This is a work-in-progress. Music is not cur­rently available.

(PROLOGUE)

The knight
in slightly tar­nished armor
pre­car­i­ously perched
on his black steed
Quest­ing
for the per­fect princess
to add to his col­lec­tion
of with­ered
wasted
beauties.

I.

A mono­lithic tower
(over­grown with thorny weeds)
rises with the sun.
inside,
he sur­mised,
must
be a maiden fair.
“Rapun­zel!
Rapun­zel!
Let down your hair!“
That coiled mass,
let loose,
smacked him
square in the face.

Grip­ping the plaits
with his hand’s sweaty embrace
he for­got
armor does not come cheap
nor light.
Soft and sweet-smelling hair
ripped out
by the very roots
rac­ing
its screaming-bloody-murder owner
who
(by the way)
was dashed to the ground
impaled
on the thorns
and her own golden crown.

II.

The embar­rassed knight
and his squeak­ing armor
sought relief
(and release)
in a deserted cas­tle.
No answer
to his knock
(and the table set
with dried fruits and meats!)
he gorged him­self
and went to sleep
while unno­ticed
went the

strik­ingly

life-like
stat­ues
dis­persed through­out
even
the like­ness of beauty
her­self
seated at a spin­dle
telling him yarns
all night
while he slept
at her feet
and dreamt of redemption.

III.

A per­fectly lovely
snow white face
framed by a glass cof­fin
some­where
in the for­est.
guarded
only by the apple
(hid­ing in the grass)
deter­mined
not to leave her side.
no one else in sight.
no latch
no lock
on her prison of glass.
A puz­zling
prob­lem
for the knight
in (still) unpol­ished armor.

Pluck­ing the apple
from its dent in the grass
a scheme
came to fruition
in his clever
(lit­tle)
mind.
Hurl­ing
the rot­ten apple
towards the case
the knight
for­got
(again)
that armor is heavy
as glass is sharp
and pointed
with pain.
kissed by shards
the beauty awoke
but
only to choke
out
the death rat­tle
caught in her mouth
along with a piece
of half-eaten
apple.

(EPILOGUE)

As the horse and squeak­ing rider
ran away
into the set­ting sun
(of course)
the night,
in slightly tar­nished amour
curi­ously pon­dered
over his black­ish deeds
Ques­tion­ing
the strange yet per­fect hope
that revealed in his com­plex­ion
a with­er­ing
wast­ing
beauty.