The Old Collector

Once upon a time, an old story collector
Heard millions of stories a day.
He loved to write them down,
And read, read, read them away.

But then he got to thinking,
Are they really so great?
When they tell so many a wild tale
Of love and friendship and hate?

Is a glass slipper the only way to tell a true love?
A rose, to tell as the years slip by?
Is the Fairy Godmother our only hope
To cheer us when we cry?

Is every maiden a Princess in disguise?
And every Prince so charming?
Why is every stepmother evil inside
And ever villager starving?

Can every girl be beautiful
And everyone, a dime?
At least we know that every 'bad guy'
Is punished for his crime

Will wishes come true
If we make them on a star?
Will every broken heart
Leave a permanent scar?

Is Fantasy a Fairy Tale?
Will these Fairy Tales come true?
And if they did, would you be happy,
Now knowing what you do?

Thought the old collector to himself
I wouldn't have a clue,
To whether these cheered me up or made me sad
Do you?