She waits in solemn slumbering,
Encased within a bed of glass,
A kiss to waken her at last
And end the hours numbering

The wrinkles in her aging face,
The hairs that turn to silver grey,
That serve to warn her prince away
And keep her ever in this place.

She holds the dream within her breast,
A smile beneath her frozen lips,
The promise in her fingertips
That one day she would be caressed.

But woe is she who, waiting still,
While all about the castle grounds
Decaying shrubs and trees abound,
Is kept locked up against her will.


copyright (c) JMStevens, 2002