By Julie Catherine Vigna

Sonnet III:  Beginnings

In bare and dusty feet she wields her broom
With none save cat, and creatures of the light
To break the days spent work-worn in the gloom
Or twilight by the cinders, black as night
Her clothes just rags, and meagre scraps for food
To drudge, to toil, her daily lot— her strife
As days go by with naught to break her mood
Though tasks done perfect, lonely is her life
While siblings, not of blood, take center stage
Bark orders, preen and scorn this cinder lass
Whose tender heart lives not inside a cage
But walks in beauty, none that can surpass
This cinder girl— the fairest in the land
Knows not, one day, a prince will seek her hand.

Sonnet IV: The Ball

She met him at the ball, a charming prince
Who eyed the heav’nly vision gowned in blue
Her shining spirit did his mind convince—
Through time eternal, his love would be true
His soul enraptured, loving at first glance
Such winsome maid that brought his voice to hush
And she, with trust; her heart lost with each dance
Was innocence; upon her cheeks a blush
In sweet romance, they waltzed across the floor
But for each other, they could be alone—
Then sounded clock; fair maiden raced for door
With sinking heart, her prince chased, but she’d flown
At stroke of midnight, she fled castle fair
Her crystal slipper, found upon the stair.

Sonnet V:  The Prince

Forlorn, the prince searched high and low, the lands
His kingdom reigned— for she who stole his heart
On strange, enchanted night, all princely plans
Were rent; so now, he knew where he must start
Each maid must fit glass slipper sure to foot
And though they tried, all maids from every home
Alas, no woman’s toes could be input—
In dainty shoe, so further he must roam
He came upon the cottage where she dwelled
Though sisters tried to block her from his sight
Saw beauty through the dust, and his heart swelled
Her golden smile assured him he was right—
The cinder girl, whose foot fit like a glove
As she looked up, he knew he’d found his love.

Sonnet VI:  Happy Ever After

‘Tis just a tale, a fable for young girl
Of Cinderella, and her charming prince
It sets a standard, puts her mind awhirl
No man could measure, ever to convince
That life and love when seen through rosy glass
Like slippers, only fit in books and lore—
True love, for real, when given just a pass
Could be the one you wanted evermore
But even so, a fairy tale come true
May happen, when least thought that it could be
I tell myself that, when I’m feeling blue
Some day my prince will come to rescue me
Always longing, through my tears and laughter
— Dream of love, and happy ever after.


Julie Catherine Vigna is a Canadian author and poet, living in British Columbia, Canada. She recently self-published her debut book of poetry, “Poems of Living, Loving & Lore.”

These poems are among the entries for the Society of Classical Poets’ 2012 Poetry Competition.

NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets.

The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary.

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5 Responses

  1. Neal Whitman

    Dear Julie,
    Once upon a time, poetry was for the common reader, not the specialist. No, not a fairy tale. It was what once was. Your set of six sonnets are a reminder of what poetry once was and too often is not today. Wonderful sonnets. Thank you.
    Amicus poeticae,
    Neal Whitman

    • disqus_y4bs08g0mT

      Neal, thank you so much for reading and for your wonderful comments on my Cinderella Sonnet Sequence; they are so much appreciated. I am so thankful there is a venue to showcase classical poetry here, and am honored to be in such great company. I look forward to exploring your works as well. ~ Julie

  2. James Ph. Kotsybar

    Dear Julie,

    I thought you might enjoy my somewhat different take on the “… ever after.”


    It probably was inevitable
    that Cinderella held on to her mops,
    and, even when queen and venerable,
    she’d sport accoutrements from thrift-store shops.

    And all she ever had to talk about
    was her history of family abuse,
    but she just never seemed to work it out;
    the royal therapists were of no use.

    And in her mind, she’s still belle of the ball,
    though she walks assisted by a glass cane,
    and Fairy-God-Mother has ceased to call,
    driven away by Cin’s own bitter reign.

    And every midnight she wakes with a start
    and listens in darkness to her own heart.

    — James Ph. Kotsybar

    • disqus_y4bs08g0mT

      James, this is brilliant, I love your ‘darker’ version of the story! Thank you so much for reading and commenting – I look forward to reading your work as well. ~ Julie

  3. Neal Whitman

    Julie, it is a good sign when readers comment on your poems. Congratulations! I submitted four poems early on and then one more for my five-poem limit for the contest. Now I see much creativity on display on this website. The poets here are, in the words of another poet, Mark Jarman, “rebel angels.” The resurgence of rhyme and meter that the Society of Classical Poets promotes is a true revolution. To bear arms is is a poet’s constitutional right.

    Amicus poeticae,



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