meeting a princess

Meeting a princess It was, according to the old, the coldest winter any could remember, the wise said it was because the war had disturbed the weather pattern One day, it snowed, then it got mild, after that it got very cold, the hilly road turned into an ice rink to our delight of children We could sleigh all the way to the lake in the town the lake, poets wrote about; they were building a hotel on the other side where old houses had been It was the tallest building in the world, mother said it would be better to build housing for the poor What did she know, reading books all day long? In the afternoon, as the day faded, an old lady was going home, she slipped and fell on the treacherous road we helped her up; she had a nosebleed. She opened her lacquered handbag took out a handkerchief that had borders and was the whitest he had ever seen, dabbing her nose in a delicate manner So brittle she was, like something rare that could vanish into thin air, I took it upon myself to take her home she held onto my arm like a butterfly. She had a beautiful oval face, and we had round faces like, farm folks, I concluded she was of royal heritage was she a princess from a forgotten country? I opened the front door for her, she gave me a sweet I put in my pocket to savor late and also to show the other boys sweets were rationed. We had fine teeth. When coming home very late, the night was starlit we boys had a great time showing off sliding on the ice to impress the timid girls At home, mother sat reading a book, I think written by a Russian bloke called Tolstoy looked up and said if you are hungry, find something in the kitchen. I told the mother of an old princess I had helped her home she had fallen on the ice and had nosebleed Princess! She said there are no royals in this town what was her name? Marianne, and she spoke posh Oh, her, she was a big, Nazi during the war I was annoyed with my mother; why did she go and spoil it all, what did she know about life, with her nose stuck in a book, and who the hell is Hemingway?