The princess dances, draped in all the world's white:
white shoes, white fan, white skirt and train,
white lips, white blossoms, and one hundred pearl chains.
Her skin is as pale as glistening dew drops
eyes are as gray as the slopes of
She steps outside; finds the stone balcony
white-washed, of course, as spectators can see.
She leans over the kingdom, and emits a soft tune.
Then a gust sends her tumbling, straight down to her doom.
The crowd disperses; stares turn to loud shrieks.
Blood pools from her wig, from a hole left to leak.
A child crouches forward, and feels so relieved:
dips his finger in red,
scrubs it right on his sleeve.
His actions, though shocking, douse the remnants of fright.
For nobody wants a world
that's just white.