The Hunting Poem by Gianni Pintus

The beloved princess,
run away in the storm,
no way the soldiers,
can reach her in this cold.
White thick snow,
the trees are tall.
but the tempest,
is coming on.
She left the castle in hurry,
with maids and few beloved,
it's too dark now,
tomorrow will be sorted.
Run, run princess,
but run fast,
as darkness is coming.
to catch you surely.
There is still much road,
before she reach,
St Petersburg,
so in the early morning,
the hunting will start,
we are going to get you,
and when we do,
prepare yourself to the doom