we were twelve
when you wrote this,
handing it to me as we walked outside,
your face expressionless:

stories tell of fair maiden
of nobility and royalty and charm
yet of all surpassed true beauty expressed
of thine she is second to none.

her laughter, it shines like the moonlight,
her smile's piercing light rivals the sun,
and when in a gloom, she'll light up the room,
of this she is second to none.

i paused behind when you left,
your feet treading through the crumble of autumn,
determined, i think, not to look back
upon the confused girl
who had only read of maidens
in her story books
and could not find one in her mirror.