Sleeping Beauty tried, but could not escape fate,
but Prince Phillip, now, could have been anybody,
and at age seven, I was he, dancing, leaping on sloping hillside
stick sword in hand, to the sound of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky.
Such exhilaration, such speed in which I galloped into the sunset light
of Hali`imaile Maui, blackberry stains still on face, mid-day heat
settling in cool elevation, spinning, agile hands reached, stretched
in battle, fearless me, I swung and slaughtered brambles sharp
and vicious, scratches on brown legs and summer shorts,
pushed to crescendo, to save my sleeping bride, Aurora.