Mirror, Mirror

This is just a warning, really bad and I mean horrifically bad poetry is about to ensue.

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall,
Who’s the fairest of them all?”
Asked the queen one day to her looking glass.

“That depends on your definition of fair.”
Replied the looking glass.
“Is it beauty beyond comparison?
And for that matter does it constitute
Lips that shame the red red rose,
Skin the color of fresh fallen snow
With rays of sunshine in her hair?”

“For if it does, you needn’t fear.
She is destined to sleep for a thousand years.
Doomed to wait for love’s first kiss.”

“Or perhaps,” replied the looking glass,
“ You mean a beauty of a different variety.
One whose hair is black as a raven,
With lips the shade of a fresh raspberry?
Or better yet, a water maiden.
With skin as delicate as a rose leaf
And eyes as blue as the deepest lake.”

“If it be the last, you needn’t worry.
She will die soon enough.”

With a huff the Queen set out
to rid herself of the so called rivals to her beauty.
“I shall rid the world of them,
then I shall always be the fairest in the land
Or my name is not Snow White.”
Replied the Queen to herself.