The Queen adjusts her black, heavy robe
While she walks
Toward the young girls’ windowsill,
The wind picks up slightly,
And she fights its tight strength,
She looks through the window and spots
Daft, naïve Snow White,
Her nose itches suddenly, and the Queen tries not to cry
As she rubs the not-so-smooth surface,
For pimples now surrounded her nose and cheeks.
Her wonderful white teeth now glow a yellow-gold,
Some teeth even missing.
This is the price, the price to be the fairest,
So the Queen, now ready, picks up the large, poisonous apple.

It’s when Snow White smiles I become furious,
Oh, just eat the dang apple! You can afford a few pounds,
And stop cleaning those dishes, who are you, Cinderella?
Where are those short men who follow and praise you day and night?
I’ll never understand it-- the Mirror said you! You!
How can you be the fairest?
With your ordinary red lips, pale, slimy skin, and dark, tar hair.
What’s become of this land? For it is me—it’s always me.
I’m the fairest in the land.
And you shall be gone. Vanish then disappear.

Snow White hesitantly takes the apple,
She examines it for a few seconds, seemingly unsure,
The apple’s a strong red, purplish color,
And gives no indication of a problem,
Snow White runs it under the sink to clean quickly,
Before the encouragement of the frail older woman in front of her,
With this, she takes a bite and sighs,
Not bad, she thinks before the room starts spinning
And she knows now, something is not quite right,
She hits the floor, dead. Stone cold.
Her last thoughts of Grumpy—the dworf she longed to like her,
The Queen laughs not noticing the angry, little men behind her,
Pitchforks in hand.