The Peasant's Princess

The Peasant's Princess
Dedicated to Ashleigh Powell, who asked me to write a poem about unrequited love.

She walks along the star-lit beach,
Her beauty does outshine,
A hand runs through her wavy hair,
I would that hand were mine.

The moonlight dances on her brow,
A sign of royalty,
And I, the peasant, watch her now,
In her, my loyalty.

The winds caress her gentle face,
And blow against her dress,
My hands, if only they were wind,
‘Twould end my soul’s duress.

The waves, they crash ‘round her bare feet,
Soothing to the toes,
They wet the sand beneath her feet,
I wish I were of those.

Next to her he stands, the one,
Who doesn’t even love her,
Façade so clear, I see right through,
If only him I were.

I would ne’er ignore her when,
We ever were together,
I’d cherish every moment spent,
I’d chase her like a feather.

I’d run around the world for her,
If notice me she would,
I would love her till I die,
If given the chance, I could.

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