So this is one of the fairy tale poems.
There are a few.
They're written as letters from those
princesses up in their towers, one to another.
And this one is from Sleeping Beauty to Snow White.
It's called, "Dear Snow."
"The grandfather clock is set at bewilder,
which means this tower, spiraling some un-time reads,
'if when, a while.'
If the night hadn't come in like ink against the castle's shore
and briar isle, then roses next house and ingle.
But how are you and your worry wild?
And how's all that rude, short, and short in
sin accepting the basic grub lays hap?
Wilt come for Christmas, Snowflake and spin?
Or are you still locked up, a wheel
of wiles, damned stepmother washed up has been.
These days, I have something of the guile
roosting under eve and shingle.
Dad, the King, looks at me and cries
but I'm not hurt or bad, beyond a splinter.
Harvest is in, the realm expanding
and I so-so in school.
But he's gone mad to spindle.
My advice is this: bewilder a while, wild eye,
and, well, splinter the spindle into spine and ink and apple.
Sigh.
Sleep."