The Kiss From A Prince (Le Baiser Du Prince) Poem by Peter Strugnell

The troubled water's cold, and I've lost all feeling,
a troubled soul, in a mass of human beings,
never more alone, than in a crowded room,
the papers echo, my sense of gloom.

The tide is rising, someone help me please,
the sand is shifting, I fall to my knees,
love and understanding, flue and éphémère,
I could live or die here, no one seems to care.

A kiss from a prince, who'll gently say,
'hold me now, we'll not be swept away,
take my soul, onto a higher plane,
and rise above, this hard hard rain'.