Avast, a tale of long past woe,
a wart, wilting on the brow.
Each barrow’s stories, told and sewn,
roughcast by words, withered so,
and glamorous all the same.
A boy, a lad, a haunted look,
this much I do know.
A glairing peer was all it took,
and a hatchling, he was shook,
and trapped on flypaper.
He sought a home away from Sol,
beauty unfairly rooked.
A heart of stone at the end of it all,
lopsided, gangly and horribly tall.
Put simply, he was ugly.