And, if the truth were to be told,Many of the prince's wives sentSilk, jewels, or some other present,Wishing it was a ring of gold,For whether eightee... or thirtyYears of age, the wives, each and all,Slender, heavy, petite, or tall,Wished that, to her, they were married.Daily parading, without fail,She wore nothing but bright feathersOne of the prince's gardenersPlucked from a peacock's beaded tail.Wherever she went, heads would turn,Both men and women ogling her;The prince thought that, to keep. And these guys are going to be entrusted to pay for my pension? They can barely count for god's sake. I turn away from the window, my twice-daily justification for the world’s plight dispersing to stained-magnolia terraced flats and overgrown semis.Smoothing down my latest purchase, I head to the kitchen for a brew. A glimpse in the corner of my eye stops me in my tracks, yes I have mirrors everywhere. Sue me. And yes I look hot! Well in my rose-tinted eyesight at any rate. A girl sees what she. More

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