The Princess and the Frog, Act One and Two

Remember a story of A Long Time Ago...

There was a princess.
This dainty, beguiling Princess
would frolic in the garden --
the one next to Eden,
so close you couldn't tell a difference.
About her, exuded immortal innocence.
Oh, was she leisurely on the eyes.
She spent her days pinning along the garden paths,
where by her Kingdom's folks, around the bends,
the bricks were laid in anticipation of her tender treads.

Act One

As passed did she, the blossoms leaned in to catch *her* scent!
As with every other living wight,
the townspeople were dazzled by her every action.
Each, thought of her at least once a day with devotion,
often making special effort for her mention.
The Princess was regal, albeit spending obliging hours afforded, alike, her attention
to gentiles, the meek, even undeserving peasants...
People! Remember that, onward it'll be of essence.
This poem yields to one queer gem in this fair maiden's tale,
that she lost hours by the pond drinking ale
from her crested pitcher.
But that is not the clincher.

You see, this pond held, under the lily pads, many a slimy creature,
whose job it was to keep the pests under the checker.
So, all held their wonder, from blacksmith to innkeeper,
then from the humble mayor, to her dad, the King: with whom did she, her ale share?
'Twas the slimiest, most repugnant, most bashful of the bog...
The Frog.
Spending hours with *this* disgusting cold-blooded invertebrate
The To-Be Queen was sustained in all sorts ofs casual flirtation, tete-a-tete.
Giving *him* only, more,
of what all others yearned for --
he cut all other brutes' lunch --
her touch.

Giddy was he by her sublime embrace
and then quite more again, at their first kiss.
But not, did he know,
that everything *wouldn't* go
on as before.
He didn't have to long, long for more...
Turned was his form, into princely an existence.
...Of sorts.
He forewent more than his warts.
More than his hop.
So he left his swamp,
for, he hoped, more than a romp.

The Final Act

This particular quagmire migrant amphibian
divided his time equally as daytime proletarian,
and, daily, arrived again to his Palace Princess.
Indeed, her time was hers to engross,
he found;
To the aforementioned kind folk she obliged time unbound!
Raging passion restricted to just bare rage,
as all else made its change,
warm memories -- of what was and missed -- flooded;
the Cold-Blooded Prince was warded and so himself warded.
Mere nuzzles would bring back their springtime,
but Would-Be Queen onwards daydreamed away others' time.

Longing to be back amongst the reeds
sincerely, merited higher than all done deeds.
The Prince seriously reckoned,
as the taste of bugs and warm mud beckoned.
One truculent conversation later,
the Prince stripped at the edge of the water.
Wading in, he met the underwater precipice.
Excited so was this new royal feller
by the old yet familiar myre,
he forgot his human form,
where he had been plucked from
he did perish into his abyss --
he at last considered what they had missed.