The Girl and the Lost Prince


Sound the trumpets, ring the bells, cry out from the tower tops.
Oh yeah! Oh yeah! A wonder just walked in the door.
Courtiers jostle, elbowing each other to catch a glimpse.
Weaving between bystanders, I yearn to get a look.
I choose to go incognito, otherwise they’d let me through.
Out of the way, cursed adults, I want to see too.
I push and shove till I  burst free and there she stands.
Yellow flowered hemline dancing over calf-length stockings,
Her jacket tight about her waist, all buckles and buttons
Light and airy, a scarf in soft green frames her face.
Her lips, her cheeks, that auburn hair and above all those eyes
Oh radiant original that outshines all these painted imitations.
Is it the light, the warmth, the colour or just the sheer magic?
Her presence sets the room singing, bewitching all who behold her
A force that draws my attention like an in-sucked breath.
The joy of it. No page can rival that swirl of colours, those curves.
Certainly not with the gaudy frippery pages have to wear.
Would that I were like her. Not the man I am destined to be.
Brought up to be an unfeeling lout, all bluster and self-importance,
My days are filled with combat training and prancing displays.
Life as a page has left me ill at ease, estranged from my body.
Whenever I see her, I am transformed, buoyed up, light and free
She has me enthralled, entranced, lost to myself and to the world.
What is this magic I take to be a girl? Is it really her I see?
I celebrate her beauty. I envy her brightly coloured clothes,
The sway of her hips, the grace with which she smiles.
Yet for all my longing, would I really trade places with her?
Prince that I am – albeit seventh in line – I will probably never know.

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