and so the fairy wish,- wound - will come to pass
on a Saturday perhaps a little gloomy when she
grows weary turning the royal kaleidoscope this
ruby way or that and wanders off in a gown of pink
trimmed slightly blue to match her mood and silkenly
she'll yearn to know what's in the golden attic.
there the spindle shone and then, the swoon and then
the failing of an ancient afternoon foretold;
the roses can't grow old but the thorns thicken
and the years appall not those who won't be
heard to say though lovelier than the day
these manifold sorrows won't be laid to rest
by the mere dreaming of a princess...
mary angela douglas 17 august 2013
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