faery tale for all ages

do you think frogs hop around waiting to be picked by the eager lips of hopeful princesses?

is there a frog prince hoping some some kitchen wench will happen by, kiss him and turn toad?

and so as not to stick to the gender games of old-fashion faery tales: do you think there is a prince, dreaming of a frog to kiss and turn into his princess?

i'm a silly girl with fantastic dreams and delusions. my most recent one is of a prince in a land far away, but not so far. and he's a prince, but lacks the seal of highest royalty. humanity and nature are still in him equal, so it seems. and i've been hopping underneath his window, unseen and unrealized for two nights. i watch the glow coming thru, squint my eyes for changes and pray a door will be left ajar as a semiconscious invitation. on other days, i have a quick and strong leap, but here i fear to use it. if he were frog too, not a prince, i would have made a gliding leap in his direction and licked his eyes to clear his view in passing. but i fear the prince would detest the scars of hard living and the warts too common of my species.

he's in camelot, and i the muddy creek. and princes don't pass time wandering in bogs, at least not after puberty. now he's in the halls, escorting ladies of pedigree. and i'm outside, chasing the wind, seeing his face in the cool stream reflections. he will waltz in tux and tails. i'll be splashing in ponds dancing on a lily-pad.

and if he could catch a glimpse of me, would he see me for what i am? or would he see me the same as all the other eager, leaping, parading scores before him? i'm no better than the rest of my kind, and certainly no worse than his. but the rejection of a prince is profound. and the attentions of my own kind are plenty.

so tell me, gentle reader, tell this frog the truth. is a melding of the species likely? or should i continue with the skins i have?