Balcony or tower, she’s still not there.
Nowhere to be seen, under rocks, I dare?
Could the princess croak like the prince before?
How about sleeping, dammed forever more?
North, South, East and West, traveling the earth.
Why heaven does know, tell me if she’s birthed?
She’ll travel around, when you least expect.
Beauty hides deep, the least you accept
© 2011 Michael Yost