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.