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.