The Princess Bride

A Tale as Tender as the Dawn

In the quiet of the Sunday garden, Father speaks,
His voice a crackling camp‑fire glow,
Lifting the rose‑blossomed map of a far‑off land,
Where Buttercup walks in silk, not marble but colour.

I, a boy of idle thought, listen to his hands,
Why a gale of letters broke his briefest promise.
His sailor heart becomes the Dread Pirate Roberts,
And casts a flag of favour upon the moonlit sea.

The wind turns the page, there’s Inigo Montoya—
Tall as a farmhouse, but he weeps, “I’ll seek vengeance.”
Mutton‑like, a feather‑crowner of mercy,
The blade gleams with honour and tempered steel.

Beside him stands the huge and gentle Fezzik,
A gentle giant with knuckled knees and gentle laughter.
Whispered promises of steadfast friendship kindle,
In his quiet heart, a love for hope and delight.

The clever Vizzini, who slyly bargains, lols,
He renames destiny, “You are mad, stranger,” but grasps his fate—
A mindset of risk, a cheap jape of wit,
While Fractions—Oh —, he finds it a money teaser.

Major hiss of Ser Frobisher’s snake of greed,
Hannah’s chant: “Gy’che!” — a conspiracist’s hiss.
The Train battle hums by fawning approval,
The words fallback in a rain‑storm saber‑sharpen.

Westley’s promise of “If you were in the twilight of love, my brave girl”
Now in text we wonder, does it not align?
The villain, oh how we think too “God will feel, the earth is an eager promise,”
A riddle that splinters, a truth that is one.

I thank the chapter, for the fanatics of spare tales,
An meant marinade that merges forgiveness with kitchen knock.
And the thing we always love is the twist of the heart,
Because each chapter is shining with a shimmering slant.