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Forever lost deep in a lonely heart,
stands a forgotten palace hidden from sight.
Where lived a simple scribe who practiced his art
and languished in the flames of candle light.

While a fair princess peacefully slept,
upon her pillow by a warm crackling fire.
She was surrounded by the lovely roses she kept,
pressed between the written words of a secret admirer.

She would often sit in the evening air,
overlooking the garden from above.
Into the eyes of the moon she would stare,
dreaming of the face of an unknown love.

The young scribe dared not reveal himself,
being a plain looking man with meager means.
Having to leave his heart upon a shelf,
only to hold her in his arms in a dream.

Then one bitter night a cold wind blew
and took the fair princess away.
When her letters were found they all sadly knew,
the young maiden died with a broken heart that day.

The young scribe never wrote another word,
he tended her garden the rest of his days.
His face never seen, his voice never heard,
a life lived in a dream never to stray.

Time has moved on, but the moon still remains.
Looking from his lofty throne he will never forget.
This crumbling castle with its garden of pain,
neglected and choked by the weeds of regret.






 8/26/19

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