The king sits on his giant throne,
Not knowing you’ll come for me
Through the deadly desert all alone,
Past the fields and the lonely tree.
I hope you arrive before the break of day
To take me out of the palace unseen
By the guards till we are farther away
In the lands where few have ever been.
The doves flap the air aloud,
And come racing down the street
To land on the garden around
The pond that drowns all desert heat.
The sky tells me you are on the way
Since that’s where we usually stay
And till dark midnight lay awake.
Oh Praise Dear Santa! Praise the Lord!
I hear the wedding bells ring in merry
When in comes Daisy panting hard
To tell me about the news in a hurry.
“The King is preparing, my Princess!
And I reckon your love was spotted”
The Princess’ heart broke into pieces
As she fell to the ground and fainted
(Her love is a farmer by profession. Imagine accordingly)
By then her love was at the fields
Following her familiar scent southward
With a winning will that never yields
And true love that only draws forward
He could hear a faint flute sing
A melancholic tune never heard
When he knelt to pick a golden ring
Shiny, soft and stunningly weird
He marched the final miles tired,
Exhausted by the steep rocky slope
Mounted on a horse he’d hired
To be caught by the soldiers’ troupe
The Princess wet her father’s feet
With tears till her eyes went red
The King could only hear the beat
Of war drums, for the captive had fled
I’m R. Gowtham, a hobby-blogging Indian. I blog at http://wp.me/48wUI.
Suggestions and criticism will be accepted and appreciated.