A Maiden's Lament
=== By Carolyn Farkas ===
It isn't fair.
I'd heard rumors of his plight,
His Royal Frogness.
I hiked all week, scrambling over rocks painted with slime,
Clambering over fallen trees,
Pulling off well-fed leeches,
Vomiting lichens and praying that the mushrooms would not kill,
Pondering my choice—mud-packed skin or mosquito bites?
All this to save him.
At last I reached the Doleful Swamp,
Worst land of all,
Snakes dripping from moldering trees,
Beetles beneath every leaf,
Scurrying creatures which I dared not seek,
A stench I thought would kill.
Careful footsteps,
Short breaths,
Tears streaming.
And then I saw him.
Forlorn upon a drifting log,
Squatting with squads of frogs around,
His toad-servants on the pond-bank
Croaking a valediction to the prince.
By his wealth I knew him,
His sceptre resting on a mossy log,
His diadem askew but shining.
The crown had shrunk just as the person had,
Now sized for the green forehead of a frog,
The gold contracted,
Tubies once the size of peaches, now of peas,
But so handsome, so regal, so I thought,
At least no warts (Thank God he's not a toad.).
He wanted to speak, but with his mouth still full of fly,
And so I kissed him, as I had been told to do.
Then, TRANSFORMATION.
The earth shook, fog swirled,
The pond scented vaguely, now, of lotus.
Then, there, before my eyes
(So far, so good; the stories were not lies)
The handsome prince.
Golden hair to match the medals on his chest,
His silken garments, out of style, but with such sheen,
His crown and scepter now a regal size.
Just as I'd dreamt him.
Tenderly he kissed me, only once, upon my disheveled hair.
"Oh, thank you, dear. It's so dull, being a frog.
My only sport—the hunt.
But no prancing stallions chasing deer,
Just myself, flicking my tongue at slow-paced gnats,
Or worse, the prey of cranes longing for lunch.
"And now there's your reward,
Eight hundred golden ducats,
Well, call it an even thousand if you'll show me the path to home,
From Doleful Swamp to the nearest of my castles."
"What about marriage?
Surely that's the right thing to do."
I tried to sound so shy,
The demure virgin who'd rescued her true love.
"The right thing to do?
My dear, why that?
Money should suffice.
Gold is its own reward,
And if you're pregnant,
The tadpole isn't mine.
Don't you suggest it.
No!
Think about it.
Marriage?
Surely you jest.
Not in the job specs.
I've heard the tales myself.
That happily-ever-after bit's unclear.
The frog ends up as a prince, and they live happily ever after.
Perhaps she's happy with the cash:
He's happy getting back to throne and realm.
But there's no marriage.
"Besides, you see, there's this girl I met last year,
A week before my frogging.
Well, actually, she's the witch who did all this.
A lover's spat. It happens.
Surely we'll work it out,
And she's a beauty.
Enchanting."
"She didn't rescue you. I did. Don't I get preference?"
"I see your point.
It makes a kind of sense.
That kiss I gave was nice, but passion wasn't there.
Anyway, I'm a prince.
I suppose a commoner might be my wife,
But I like my women clean.
No mosquito bites, no scratches, no smell of puke,
Not layered with mud,
And certainly not the sort who'd kiss a frog,
No matter who she thought the frog might be."
"You've eaten flies."
"Now that's unkind.
I had no choice. Stag-beetle stew or starve.
But you chose to kiss me.
You tasted of mushrooms, lichens, and so much else.
A tongue that licked toad will never touch mine.
Marriage?
Not even shacking up.
Princes don't do shacks.
"Be honest.
Would you have come
If I had been a peasant or a serf?
Remember—a thousand ducats.
That's quite enough
To buy a handsome farmer
If you buy the farm.
You'll get your man, one used to mud and muck,
And I will find my bewitching, noble love.
Now let's be going.
And we'll all live happily ever....
Well, you know how the ending ought to be. "
But I begged him.
"Just kiss me once on the mouth,
Just once,
While I hold your crown and sceptre,
While I pretend to be royal.
Then, if no, then no.
Though I have my expectations."
And so I kissed him, as I had been told to do.
Then, TRANSFORMATION.
The earth shook, fog swirled,
The pond scented vaguely, now, of muck.
Then, there, before my eyes
(So far, so good, the stories were not lies)
The handsome frog.
Well, not so handsome, even for a frog,
Without his crown or sceptre.
They sold for quite a price. And now my mansion
High on this mountain
Overlooks the Doleful Swamp
But at a distance.
My farms expand as we drain the swamp.
My beauty products help peasants and queens alike,
Especially the mud packs.
I need only smile, relax,
Rest on velvet sheets,
Wear silken dresses,
Dine on caviar and frog legs.
(Perhaps, one of these days....)
And I’ll live happily ever....
Well, as he said, you know how the ending ought to be.
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