Rumpelstiltskin rebranded as outré designer couture

the daughter of a miller abducted, exiled, held
locked as prisoner didst bawl
achingly, effusively, indubitably murmured plaintively
quite riotously didst call
out for help, when stalked with facing john Deere reaper
with nary a blues clue how to drawl,
a gentle southern twang the heap of straw,
she needed to transform into gold before the fall
low wing break of dawn, a demand made from king of Gaul,
who decreed death to Mister McGrain attested boasted claimed
his daughter adept in the art of alchemy 
(taught from a spin stir, the secret 
to whip – coolie -gold from thin air) rake a haul,
which lit up like King Midas eyes, 
demanded said girl of thee papa must install;
the golden flaxen edenic dame abhorred, decried, groaned jowl
near dropping to the floor, which sends this teller of tall tales
returns me back into infinitely jesting feedback loop

at opening sentence of this poetic riff, where poor lass
shuttered within dank, dark cell staring distraught at floor to ceiling mass
of dry stalks counting down hours, minutes, seconds when she will pass
into maws of death, when within blink oven aye, a munchkin – sass
soon before tears of condemned girl yet to dry – appeared reedy like grass,
who vouchsafed, he could enrich the trumpeting donned king Lear
and within a flash, where once piled fetid,
dried, brittle appeared blinding glare
ring mouth watering most precious metal –
inducing fair maiden to grin ear
to ear, and eagerly anticipated his majesty,
who (spoiler alert) made her his dear
lee beloved queen, whence thee royal family opened shop for rich – 
no doubt that would, which clothing boutique for wealthy logically clear
of course incorporating pomp and circumstance plus knights templars blare
ring thee positive turn of fate, whence palace exuded festive air.

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fast forward to at least a year post golden fleeced couture
when with a “poof”, the trawling impish hunchback
glowered thence slammed wrought iron drawbridge door
when the divine mother begot plethora of progeny bade bone jure
upon correctly guessing the name of mite size roar
ring elfin grot, who out of rage tore
himself in half – as if within him exploded a civil war.