By Moonlight*

In the old story
she is taken captive by a witch
(or was it her mother?)
because she is beautiful
and is thrown into a filthy room.
To make matters worse the witch
forbids her water for bathing
and, lest she should escape, a broom.

She asks for soap--a bar--
The hag gives her a sliver
saying This will go far
we're a mile up from the river.

She uses her daily glass of milk to moisten the soap,
So her mother forbids her milk and gives her apples.
She uses the wet core of the apple to moisten the soap,
and every day she is clean,
but day by day her radiance fades,
her beauty fades
and she becomes as dull as the room.
The mother is happy at last.

The shutters are closed each day to the sun;
The girl uses her spittle to moisten the soap,
but after a time the soap is done
and the witch laughs wildly the night it is gone,

O Child, fair child, what will you do
No sun or soap is left for you?

But the moonlight cuts though a broken lattice
and when the girl stands in its cleansing glow
the filth of the house begins to go
for that is what moonglow does, in practice.

Each night she stands in the little crescent patch of moonlight,
each night she is brighter--her face and hair shine with beauty.

Her mother has not seen her for days
Her mother expects to find her dead
in a dirty heap of rags upon the floor.

Dear Child she says scratching at the door,
I have been so poor a mother to you,
taking your water, your milk and your apples.
But, you know, beauty like yours
is far from natural.

My child? She tries the latch,
the door swings open, and before
her stands the girl more radiant
than ever:
her hair shining like the moon
her face the colour of fresh milk
her arms as white as the meat of the apple.

*(from the prose rendition by Margaret Mahy)