Monday, June 19, 2006
To a proud girl
I spend dark hours looking at you,
Wondering what’s that wild fire,
Within you, that swiftly spreads,
Whichever way the wanton wind,
Of your willful gaze chooses to blow.
There seated among distant dreams,
And proud ideals of my captive mind,
With a raised chin and resolute lips,
So sure of their royal bloodline,
You turn with perfect ease upon,
The waiting world, cast a cursory glance,
And look at them no more.
Expressions mask with hidden haste,
What the naked face might betray,
For the enchanted world should never know,
What lurks behind those haughty eyes,
Is a little girl that cries, at the dark night,
That prevails on the restless forest,
Deep inside her untamed heart.