Back then in 1945,
She was wearing a thin chiffon blouse,
And her silk webbing petrified my tactile feelings,
She was by all odds my ideal spouse,
But I just kept staring at her like a carpet to a ceiling.
She is the daughter of King Ashraf,
And I was just a servant that cleans his chambers,
In my heart, she was second to none,
But fate has placed between us a limiting timber,
A timber that smells like a bonny pone,
Made me pine more for her cuddle in my weeny chamber.
I didn’t know how to express myself,
I couldn’t dare to express myself,
I was just a servant in love with a princess,
I knew I could lose my head to the ground in process,
So I was scared to face her in person,
I didn’t know love could be so fearsome.
Even if my neck and head eventually gets detached,
I was ready to open up my heart to the princess,
I just couldn’t bear my love for her getting parched,
Like a corn exposed to sunlight in wessex,
So I sneaked to her with my hair like a thatch,
I wasn’t quite sure if my brain was in fullness,
As I knocked on her door made of larch,
On a midnight with a chilling frostiness.
She opened the door after one knock,
And pulled me in like a dog to a rabbit…
To be continued…