SciFi and Fantasy Stories: The Royal Frog

There lived once a princess of beauty so bold,
She began to be courted at but a month old.
All the neighbouring dukes and sultanas and kings,
Would offer her father their finest of rings.
But the king of that land was a man of his pride-
He turned them all down with the words “she’ll decide-
For a princess no pre-arranged wedding will do.”
So the suits ceased a bit while she toddled and grew,
From a sweet little babe to a spiteful young girl,
With the words ‘spoiled princess’ writ large on each curl.
She teased all the servants, she tortured the cats,
She enjoyed little more than dismembering bats…

But the day that the princess was sixteen of age,
To court her again was the royalty’s rage:
All the princes and dukes came from far and from wide,
For the merest of moments to stand at her side.
But the princess was pained, to her father she said
“If you find me a perfect prince, then will I wed:
A prince with a smile as bright as the day,
With hair that is golden as freshly mown hay,
With eyes that are green as the grass after rains:
And, please not a dumb prince – I’d like one with brains.”
At this last request the old king quite despaired,
For all know that princes are thinking-impaired!

Her highness, well pleased with receiving her way,
Walked smug round the garden that part of the day.
My father’s brain too seems to be rather small,
She thought to herself as she took out her ball,
And tossed to the air then that small sphere of gold-
But, trying to catch it, it slipped from her hold.
It rolled down the slope of the green palace lawns,
And past the king’s chess set, with towering pawns,
It bounced by the gardener’s spade and his rake,
Then headed downhill for the great Palace Lake.
It flew up majestically, plopped down like lead,
A splash in the lake – and a bump on the head;
A frog limped ashore with a sigh and groan-
But the princess still thought that she stood all alone.

“My beautiful toy! Oh my ball, my gold ball,
It’s gone now forever – oh why did it fall?
Must it lie for all time in those waters so drear?”
The princess sniffed loudly and shed a bright tear.
But the frog eyed the princess, and croaked a reply:
“Don’t worry, my dear, you’ll soon have your ball dry.”
With a leap and a flip, it dived down to the silt
And rescued the ball that was better than gilt.
Returning to shore he beheld the girl’s stare,
His head hatched a thought – opportunity there.
“In return for the pain of your solid ball’s knock,
I ask but one thing for retrieving the rock-
That you kiss me.” At this the girl pondered a while,
Then onto her face crept a grin full of guile.
She picked up the ball, kicked the frog on the chin,
And laughed as the slimy wet creature fell in.
Then skipping with glee she returned to the castle -

Where her nurse stood to greet her with strangely shaped parcel.
“Prince Snozzly,” she said with a worried half grin,
“Remember, the one that’s so awkwardly thin?
With that smile like a cat that’s made friends with a mouse,
Ears like a foghorn and eyes like a louse?
Well, he’s left this for you - just to show you, he said,
That he wasn’t upset by your quips on his head.”
Slightly puzzled her highness skipped up to her room,
She opened her gift – and sank straight into gloom.
“What on earth would I want with a book with no names
On the front or the back? Is this prince playing games?”

A title, she then noticed, was on the spine:
‘How to tell fortunes quickly’, by Madame Lou Brine.
She opened with glee to the first page and read,
‘You’ll need a gold ball’, “Well, I’ve got one!” she said.
She picked up her golden orb, rubbed off the grime,
Then read a bit further: ‘or you can use a lime.’
Although slightly put out, she went on nonetheless,
To read that ‘the ball must be rubbed hard, unless…’
‘…unless you are prettier than any star.’
It went on to say, but she’d read not that far.
She rubbed the ball quickly, and squinted in deep,
To behold there a vision that made her skin creep.
There she was, by the lake, in her one hand the ball-
In the other the frog! The sight filled her with gall.
Then the image-princess raised the frog to her face
And kissed the foul beast – as though ‘twere no disgrace!
She turned round disgusted, but the ball pulled her back:
For in place of the frog stood a prince with a sack!
Its neck lying wide and its contents aglow,
For inside lay diamonds, pearls whiter than snow,
And coins that shone gold like a spring butterfly
The princess blinked twice – “this I just have to try!”

She skipped to the fishpond, called out to the beast,
And with royal charm lied “You’ll have one kiss at least,
‘A promise is a promise’ my dad said to me,
And since he’s the king – that’s a royal decree!”
The frog crawled, delighted – was kissed on the nose,
The girl grins in glee as he suddenly grows!
But the prince – where’s the prince? She can see nothing royal:
A gargantuan frog, its skin pulsing with oil.
“But the prince, but the jewels…?” she quickly thought back.
“Do you have no possessions? Do you not have a sack?”
The frog scratched his head with a gooey webbed toe.
“I’ve one of those somewhere, I’ll check down below.”
He plopped in the lake and came up with a bag,
“As my wife you may share this -” she shrieked like a hag.
“Your wife, you foul frog? You impertinent wretch!”
She yelled loud, intending the king’s guards to fetch…
But all that came out was a feeble half-choke
As her fair royal voice was transformed to a croak!
With a gesture despairing she reached for the sack,
Pulled it open and ribbitted, taken aback.
At the sight of its contents her last hope then died,
For the sack held but flies – oh, that foul book had lied!

So the princess now greenish and web-footed too,
Sat down for a moment to think what to do.
After but half a moment she burst into tears,
And felt she would weep now for dozens of years.
“There, there,” said the frog, with a kind touch – though damp,
“Come in from the cold or you might get a cramp!
And in general, my dear, you should stick by the pool
Unless you might wish to be made into gruel
The chief gardener alas has a liking for frog…”
So the princess resigned to a life in the bog.

So you see, best beloved, the truth of this tale,
‘tis better bad fate to avoid than bewail-
Told fortunes, e’en magical, aren’t always true:
Read well the instructions, or land up in goo!