With you hair so red, like a bloody sun,
your regrets follow you through and through,
with tomorrows bound to come, and desperately drowning,
you are losing yourself, your prince is no more.
With his baritone voice to soothe your mind,
Poetry read will be existant no more,
your tear-drops fall to the ground, your eyes shining like stars,
giving up isn't easy, especially for love,
He is right there, holding your hand,
through the meadows so fine, and wherever you may dine,
death is no longer tragedy, you died for love,
and now you may be in a beautiful heaven,
with your prince once again,
holding hands once more,
gazing in each others eyes,
together once again.
-For Pamela Courson Morrison, December 22, 2006.
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