“Your wish is my command, dear sir.

But for a kiss?  It’s up to her.

You hide here in the garden shed.

I’ll say that I forgot some thread.”

Viola came.  The thread was found.

She picked it up and turned around

in time to see him standing there.

She slipped out quickly as a hare.

Viola was sent twice again.

“My ruler,” and “my scissors, then.”

Each time the prince had no success.

Viola liked it less and less.

She faced her aunt in rage and tears,

blasphemed her and cut off her ears.

Then back to Daddy’s house she went.

The prince, though spurned, would not relent.

He took to walking by each day.

Each time he passed her he would say,

“Good day to you Viola, dear.”

And she was still as rude, I fear.