He stopped in his tracks half way through,

The contents were much too taboo.

He took a good look,

Was this really a book,

Made for kids? His anxiety grew.

Cinderella, for starters, drank booze,

Her sisters, they never wore shoes,

The prince was a bum,

His parties a scrum,

No one went, they had all an excuse.

He eventually got to Snow White,

And was shocked, something wasn’t quite right,

Bizarre circumstances,

And awkward advances,

Building up to a ferocious fight.

Would Rapunzel be genuine instead?

All that hair, flying high overhead?

But just as he thought,

It was not what it ought,

It was definitely not from her head.

He was shocked, and turned very blue,

All those stories were not those he knew,

The book had him confused,

Not at all much amused,

But returned for a final review.

Hansel, Gretel, the beast, the bridegroom,

Chucking eggs on their heads with a spoon.

After catching a glimpse,

Of the three little pigs,

He lobbed the book out with a broom.

Come now, sir, you seem very frustrated,

These stories have much been updated,

These fresh points of view,

Kids will love them, not you,

Modern versions, abridged and unrated.