Snow White's Revenge
She scrubs and cleans, makes seven beds.Her hands are cracked and turning red,
As ruby as her lips.
Her once white dress, black with stains
Moves to match her long dark mane
That’s snarled, its ends all split.
These seven men are too much workEach contains his own sole quirk,
They’re all different, yet all the same.
And not one of them knows enough
To fill the empty tinder box,
Or pick up his own tiny socks;
She’s grown weary of this game.
The bright red fruit arrives one dayFrom whom it comes, it doesn’t say.
It smells so good, she’s about to bite
When a bird sings out his song mid-flight,
“Don’t eat that thing, for you see
It’s fallen from a poison tree,
Within it something’s wrong.”
She contemplates the murderous sin,Decides to do it with a grin.
She cuts the thing up evenly,
Slow bakes it in a pastry.
The seven men come home to eat
And smell the fragrance wafting sweet.
They shun their steak, eat the pie instead,
Then one by one, they each drop dead.
Of her deed, no one knows,
She digs their graves with their tiny hoes
To bury them in the caves of ore,
A slave to them she will be no more.