Reduction

In barren jealousy she drew her wand
And placed the child under the knell of death;
While all the court stood by with bated breath
The thirteenth fairy then toned down the bond.
Not doomed to die she was but doomed to sleep
And on her thirteenth birthday it befell
That a sly spool made good the sorry spell:
The princess slept for future man to reap.
But should the rider struggle all he may
To reach the fabled treasure hid away
By rotting roses round the wasted wall,
He'll find the sleeping beauty has gone grey –
A toothless trophy won by dank decay,
The broken echo of a feeble call.