Dressed in silk, dancing with lowborn ilk,
His suit the color of foaming milk,
The balcony watches silently, in audience with the moon,
As they watch the girl begin to swoon,
Her white teeth flashing at the sight of his smirk,
Devilish and handsome, making her want to shirk.
But his hands are so gentle and warm,
Butterflies in her stomach a-swarm.
Should she fall, she should be caught by a family’s net,
But what if her mind were set?
She could run, she could flee,
Flee this aristocratic destiny.
The stars flicker in her eyes,
And that young man fights to suppress his sighs,
For he knows that they cannot,
And should not.
But her lips are so ruby,
She is the only thing that he can see.
Her eyes so azure,
That he could almost be sure.
The pang of low birth is on his breast,
In this heartbreak fest.
Her skin is so pale,
Her soul must be so frail…
At last, as the night is closing, he draws her in,
He twirls her around to a world she has never been.
Her gown, opal against the night,
Oh.. what a sight!
He is still shocked when her lips meet his,
Tender, calm, a delicate kiss.
His fingers seek her wheat field hair,
It just isn’t fair.
Their lips drip honey,
Their tongues so free,
They are in their own place,
Of love and disgrace.
That night, they open to each other,
Light as a single feather.
Nothing could break this spell,
All is swell.
Months later, the sunshine is shining, the grass is emerald,
And standing before two is God’s herald.
A tear slips down her face,
As she stands there in her frills and lace.
A traitor hangs in the gallows,
And a best friend in the mud wallows,
Grieving his friend,
Wondering how this could be the end.
Much land has been gained today,
On this beautiful Sunday.