I have taken the princess her breakfast,

she’s a little disgruntled today,

tired of being locked in her tower

(I would be, too).

I take care of her as best I can,

bring her books,

crossword puzzles.

I read her poetry but she is

too young to care.

She listens politely,

cocks her head to one side,

tries to understand,

her beautiful hair falling down

to the floor like wheat rippling in the field.

She’s never cut it,

it’s part of her magic

(little does she know).

by Cher Bibler