Naveed Khalid


The Little Prince


Me not so dim-witted that by wise words to profane thee,
Nor can e'er unleash the curtain of thy most high deserts,
That show not my head where thy crown, of worthier pen born,
My mind still shines so bright before the world's eye,
And in wanting looks a wanton tapestry at thy throne,
Of a plumed hat on knees, to prove thee virtuous:
I wish I'd that parody played a hunch for the parade
Of heavy steps, a march towards spring's apparels,
Under the hood of the sun, amidst green leaves of clear morning;
Stood amongst many a maiden garden of blushed roses,
All wrapped in ecstasy of full-arrayed ribbons, our little prince, sleep on!
I'll make them my stepping stones, a mileage to take far-off,
The living memories of love's great heir, her excellency the Queen;
For such darling insights to thee suffice, more sweet my humble ode,
The stream of golden nymphs beside a beautiful cascade,
Away from high heavens, grows to eternal bliss in thy abode.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2014.
All Rights Reserved.

Submitted: Tuesday, September 02, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, September 02, 2014

Topic of this poem: healing

Form:


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