A Poetical Present For Princess Franula

Once upon a time there was a princess called Franula,
so pretty there was just more prettiness when her figure was fuller.
She had a smile that made goblin children behave,
she had a smile that made old duffers want to go to a rave,
she had a smile that made her subjects say the realm
of Chatteris had  two suns, but one in the sky did underwhelm
compared to Princess Fran's beauteous beaming face.
Now you would think a princess's life would be ace,
but for 7 years she had been a single damsel in distress
because Cupid's evil twin, the wicked cherub of the west,
whose name was Poffin, had locked her in a lonely tower,
so no poet could pluck singular Franula flower.
Poffin's devious scheme had covered all the angles.
Fran did not wear her hair as long as heroine of 'Tangled'
(which is what Disney called their version of Rapunzel),
so no knight could scale  warm brunette waterfall
that cascaded from her follicles. And to make things worse,
Poffin had compounded Fran's  seven year curse
(ironic that the most gorgeous princess in the area
had the 7 year misfortune linked to smashed mirrors);
y'see, Cupid's brother, Loki to Cupid's Thor , Poffin
defended Fran's tower with a dragonsize pigeon!
Now, over the years half-a-dozen and one,
all manner of knights and princes had come
to try to rescue Princess Franula, but they were
all sadly lacking in gallantry and valour.
Some were hunks whose hearts were faint,
and blamed some minor health complaint,
and said it was tennis elbow or a tickly cough,
not the dragon pigeon that put them off.
Others were player-princes who talked a good fight,
Fran's hopes raised then downed like a gusto-less kite,
as these princes had easier damsels that day to save,
they  didn't have the love that makes men brave.
There were even one or two in all that time
who piked the pigeonzilla that patrolled the moat of slime,
and whilst  this monstrous rat-with-wings cooed injured
with flesh wound shaving its plumage kerb-coloured ,
these hollow heroes did stick on some sunction pads
and climb the tower like those moobed Batmen justice dads.
In thru the window they did swing and smooched
Princess Fran, but then  the cads vamoosed
with a treasure chest or two, deserting the real prize,
and in Princess Fran's  bespectacled chocolate jewel eyes,
tears did sparkle.  O all those twats in silverfoil
should be stretched  in racks and boiled in oil.
But a happy ending is what I'm owing
as the author of a fairytale poem,
and so  without further ado, let's save Princess Fran,
and introduce a modest swashbuckling man
to take her from the tower her love is entombed in,
a Prince Charming approaching who is only human.
This Prince Charming is not tall, dark and handsome,
but he's a king of caring who's blonde, cute and random.
He long ago gave up the Benson and Hedges,
so tho' 30-odd, he's not that craggy round the edges.
He didn't descend from the richest royalty,
but his sword is love and his shield is loyalty.
Not 6-foot, he's strapping  but slightly short,
and tho' he usually bikes or uses public transport,
upon a sabretoothed purple squirrel from Norwich,
he rode with snazzy standard in  suit of armour  stylish,
with educated flanter and immodest codpiece,
Lord Lysandarcy came to rescue princess of Chatteris.
Outside the Tower of Singledom entrapping Princess Fran,
 Lysandarcy put into action a cunning plan.
He had a sack of baking soda loaded on a catapault
and fired this down the dragon pigeon's throat,
and then after burps and hiccups and hiccurps,
the pigeon dragon exploded in a rain of giblets.
Next, Lysandarcy fired a grappling hook gun,
ascended like Peter Parker on a webline spun,
till he arrived at Princess Franula's ledge
to declare this passionate pledge:
'O Princess Franula, leave this Tower of Poffin!
His brother, Cupid, sent me here on a mission 
to kiss your tears better so your brown eyes see
you are perfect,  the P.G.O.P to Lysandarcy!
Let us elope to a land where beef is illegal
and pigeons are replaced everywhere by seagulls!
Where mixologists shake us Margaritas on the beach,
where a princess who can also supply teach
is worshipped as a goddess in body and mind,
and your smile does a forever home find
on your face with its cute kissable babychin,
as domestic goddess princess  puts fresh batch in
and bakes a smashing cake, a lifetime on the hips
can be worked off by a lifetime of lips
kissing you head to toe, Princesss Franula,
but let kisses speak and say your body will be my ruler,
your mind my mistress . And about yourself, by loving
the way you are loved, you won't want to change a thing 
 you will find one unimaginable day very soon!'
And Princess Franula did collapse into a swoon,
and Lord Lysandarcy snogged her face off
like a man savouring a cupcake from Heaven's bake off.
They descended the tower down the ledge-clawing rope
and rode off into a bull's eye of a future an arrow of hope
had hit, fired from Cupid's hoochie-coochie bow. 
Will they live happily ever after? I  hope so, 
and as  purple sabretoothed squirrel both did mount,
they shared a dream of deactivating their POF accounts.