Tuesday, May 17, 2011

If I could dare

Can the language of this primitive being
Be likened to that of a Princess'?
Can the besmeared features of me
Compare with the tiara adorning your tresses?

Can a common beetle paint herself
Like a breath-taking Monarch?
See a crow humbly bow low
Before a white swan's graceful arc.

Can this strange person follow you
Throughout your daily grind?
Or kneel beside you weeding
While searching for a sign?

A look or a clue -
A lilt in your voice,
Inciting me to muster strength
and plainly state my choice.

To declare aloud my jealousy
(Can you possibly see a trace)
Of a longing to embody
Those glasses on your face.

If like sweet, little Thumbelina
I could perch upon your nose,
We could read a book together
Or smell that snow white rose.

Together we cold knit a sock
Or finish up that stitch,
Then yawning cast our work aside-
A feeling that we're rich.

And then as you cast me aside
I'd wonder to myself,
"Whey am I dumb and deaf and blind
And resolutely mute?"

When all I really want to say,
With tiny Thumbelina's voice,
Into your ear as I perch there
Hardly making any noise,

Is simply that you're the swan
With such a graceful arc
A brightly painted, breathtaking,
Fair, delicate Monarch.

A tiara adorns your tresses,
For you are a lady and Princess
Of the land in which I dwell.

It is these things I long to tell
Into your ear - if I could dare.

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