I, Rapunzel, clutched the tighter to my golden mane;
You, the wooer, prince and fighter, struggled to unchain
All those strands that held me captive to the distant past;
Strangled hopes and maladaptive dreams I had amassed
Like treasure chests with broken stocks, reduced by time to rust;
Death had killed my golden locks, and crumbled them to dust.
‘Let down your hair!’ your battle cry resounded in the dark;
But tendons tightened, terrified of barren branches; stark
My thoughts, unclothed my heart, as hope dared warm my blood;
One by one upon the start, and then a torrent flood
Descended in a golden cloud, until I stood unveiled –
Beneath my feet, a golden shroud, where former visions paled.
And now I wait, a bare-skinned maid, my Prince has won me fair;
For with the spring, I’ll grow new braids, fresh dreams will crown my hair.