The Maiden

The White Queen: A Poetry Collection

The Storyteller

Dressed in a black satin dress
Her hair is almost always a mess
She’s cunning and divine


Her lips bright red
Against her will
For natural is more her style


She danced and twirled
At this midnight ball
She was ordered to attend


A suitor she needs
To keep her throne
As her family cannot let her rule alone


She flirts with every woman and man
As she is pursued by every eye
One pair sees
Feels blue and gold
As she looks simply sublime


A servant, she thinks
Why’d it have to be her
Why’d she have to catch my eye


“I need the crown
I need the throne
I cannot lose my power”


This cook may be sweet
But she lacks a royal name
She lacks what I want most
I want to keep my power and fame


“Wait” yells the cook
As the maiden steps away
“A crown you want?
I can keep you with glory and fame”


As the clock stroke two
And carts began to roll
The cook muttered those fateful words
“My dear, for you, a crown shall be had”
As she revealed her nasty plan


The maiden was shocked
But she felt in luck
“I’ll wait for you” she sang