Oh Theodore is dashing, but he has certain heirs and ways
Of course he does, he’s a Prince and I must do what his Mother says
It’s his Mother the Queen who frightens me; with her sharpened, whip-like tongue
In time we shall be expected to rule a Kingdom and yet I feel so young
No doubt his Grace is a kind man, but what is it to be in love;
Do the birds chirp even louder and angels sing in the realms above?
Or is this a foolish, girlish fantasy that I must conceal
But do I really care for Theodore, what is this I feel?
I think I’m excited by the status, endless money and more;
In short, I’m not besotted with him. I don’t love Theodore.
©Sophie Bowns 2011-2014