In the hushed and hollow chamber
she crouched shivering at the hearthstone.
Skimpily clad in clammy chemise and skivvies
the incessant cinders swept into the crackling ashes,
the pitchfork stuck in the pile of muck in the corner,
the screeches and screams of
her fat flatulent sisters finally ceased.
Bedecked, bejeweled, and befuddled
they parted in their livery
Into the black celestial night
to trample the toes and hearts
of their pitiful twirling partners
while she huddled and willed her
wishes to fruition,
and alas they were
by three miniscule mice
and a miraculous squash
plucked fresh from the pumpkin patch.