Let your hair down; let love resound.

A girl emprisoned by her own hair, 

The vanity unkenned through the land, 

The tower's walls concealed each strand, 

and the very maiden fair. 

 

For jealousy, for jealousy, was she far locked away, 

'Twas not her own vainglory,

but that wicked one's envious story,

Palisading the lass to stay. 

 

But one gallant chap, so fond of love

sought to find his only rose

so to his "sweet" he swiftly goes, 

Roses, however, do have thorns, as the tower rises above. 

 

He could not ascend the tower in its hiddeous splendor

He bid her lend her long blonde hair

To scale the tower without doubless, no fear. 

Success granted, his maiden too, and a love not felt afore. 

 

Her hair his strength, to scale that ghastly ghost of a tower

His strength is hers. Her beauty peers his wit

She shall he forever fence therewith

The two are one, as all love is. United in finest hour. 

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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