Mornings Come And Go

He came looking for work from an ogre.
Why would you do that? It’s tough all over.
The monster seemed nice at first, offered one duty per day.
The worst he could say
about his boss was it promised to eat him
if he didn’t finish shoveling the stable. Exceedingly
easy, isn’t it? The boy agrees,
kicks his heels when the ogre leaves.
Now the Mastermaid had a job there too.
There were always boys. They were always new.
They were always eaten at the end of the day,
on account of the curse on the goat dookie.
She tells this one about the magic pitchfork:
best advice that a boy could wish for.
Rest of the afternoon, they discuss it.
A day’s acquaintance, already trusted
confidantes in the house of dangers.
Ogre’s home! It roars and rages,
“Live the night, but don’t bless your fortune;
I’ll have another task in the morning for you.”

The Mastermaid says you take it real slow.
The Mastermaid says mornings come, mornings go.

He wakes to the dawning.
Before he can yawn, there’s an ogre on him,
telling him to round up a flaming horse.
Ogre’s sure got demanding chores.
Heed the counsel of the Mastermaid:
use the hidden bridle, get the stallion tamed.
And every morning this is how it’s played.
She instructs, he survives a day:
how to take the sand and spin it
into rope, and what the limit
is collecting fire taxes
from the underworld. What the ogre asks is,
“did you get the data from the girl in the house?”
Boy insists he didn’t. “How’d
you get up the seven-mile tree for my eggs then?
Guess I don’t need her. Guess I’ll eat her. Guess when.”
That night, she sneaks in his quarters.
He says he loves her, she says he oughta.
Gotta flee! She counsels patience,
“the night is slow but the morning hastens...”

Count dusk to dawn. In a rush, they’re gone.
But what locks held them thus so long?
Not any, ‘cept for certain pursuit.
Plenty of the lady’s girlish virtues
get expended. Hair comb, flung.
Whence it landed, briar sprung.
And though it’s stung, beast presses onward.
Her mirror, thrown, wreaks the contours
of an icy mountain range which
shatters fast. Behold, the Mastermaid dips
vast ocean from a perfume flask.
Ogre drinks it, bursts in half!
At the shore, the boy must venture homeward,
tells his cohort, “wait here, no more
tears. I’ll return to claim you
once my life’s prepared. And hey, do
you believe in love?” This maiden
waited every day in the calendar, patiently.
Knew the boy would find her,
come some morning. (Wear those blinders.)

Morning comes, morning goes.
And the first shall be last and the last shall be first and...