The Princess


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She rode a shiny horse

On an intricately petaled path

Waving effusively as only she could. 

Dressed in a scarlet robe

She beamed her usual sleek smile 

Effused  with royalty 

One some of us seldom get to see.

It was the ritual princess stroll

Where she picks her husband to be;

The crowd was disparate

With the rich and affluent 

Her first contact.

She kept riding slowly deep into the village

Past where all other princesses often stop;

I felt my heart pounding 

Secretly wishing she would stop in front of me.

I laughed at my own folly

Surely, 

The princess wouldn’t;

She wouldn’t even see me

A lowly farm boy, lost in the crowd.

I closed my eyes as she drew nearer

Mesmerized by the approaching aura;

Suddenly there was a deafening silence

I wondered why

And opened my eyes to know.

All eyes were on me

As the whole village stood silently in shock;

The horse was breathing slowly 

And I could feel his warm breath on me.

She reached out her fragile arm

From atop the horse;

I looked into her glowing eyes

Glaring down at me

And I was lost in the inherent beauty.

Tradition dictates that I hold her outstretched hand

But I was numb from head to toe;

I was shocked at the impossible 

And equally trapped in her grace.

She touched my face

Sending nerve wrecking chills down my spine;

That not only melted me,

It also broke my lucid dream.

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