A way out of this obedience that is poverty:

The ball for all maidens, so the prince may choose his favorite

 

You cannot go, you are a servant

You are not

Wealthy enough,

Pretty enough,

Good enough

 

Yes I am

 

And the flowers breathe

 

And through the swaying grass

A gentle breeze, a whisper of magic, swirling

 

A gown of night air

And shoes of glass

A carriage of leaves

That will fade to dewdrops come the first breath of morning

 

The last one to enter

And all their heads turn

A dance with the prince?

Who presses too close

 

Come walk with me

I don’t want to

 

And across the room

Her smiling gaze

Hazel eyes and dark hair pinned up

 

I don’t want a prince

 

Talk to her

And when she smiles

She is lovely

 

And outside hidden amid the hedges and the fountains

A soft kiss

 

I don’t need a prince