In the kingdom we call Attic,

A treasure chest, veiled in dust,

Conceals the riches of a dreamer,

The visions of a queen.

A mirror, framed in solid gold,

Entrusts to us an image sweet,

Of full cheeks tinted pink as posies

And eyes as dazzling as the seas.

Fabric cascades in gentle waves,

A waterfall of red,

And gathers in a puddle

Around two tiny feet.

Mother’s pearls from neck descend,

A moon in crimson sky,

Pint-sized fingers twist and twirl

Stars which hang on golden thread.

Sunshine drops in ringlets,

Her shoulders are its throne,

Proud it sits, framing rosie cheeks,

It’s only friend a lacy bow.

A gentle voice like music calls

And child shrugs off her daze.

Bare feet forthwith pitter-patter

As queen from loyal kingdom flees.

Some call it a fancy,

This Lilliputian’s dream,

Whom the world greets as a princess,

But who yearns to be a queen.

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