Little Prince
What I like about you is your look of surprise
The smattering of sunlight on your white gem face
The wistful expression when your heart is in that other place.
There is not a single fleck of color in your ink-black eyes
Yet in them I see the clearness of the sea, and of a late sunrise.
Sincerity so rare, like beams of a lighthouse in starless space
I want to paint you in a room full tattered furniture and soiled lace
in rags, like a pauper, with only your two lanterns obscuring the guise.
Nowadays you want to be tall, broadening and browning in the sun
Practicing the haughty smirk, the jaunty gait of their game
You can’t quite master it, though with all your might you try
But when I caught you unguarded with your pretenses undone;
glimpsed the innocence that illuminated when I called your name
I realized your pureness of heart no rags could defy.
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