Tracing the outline of the mountains,
The snow-topped trees with my finger,
Feeling winter thaw away;
Imprints and passports are rights of passage here. 
Tumbling through leaves, the feathered bird
Flutters and falls, catching the cold air
Like frozen lakes in your dreams. 
The hard ground recalls a winter howl
And the ages of Alexandra beckon you back –
Back to a time when you were king,
And she, once a scarlet fever upon your brow,
Is now the queen of your heart. 
But kings are selfish beasts, 
Burdening the heart of such delicate birds,
And they, in their lust forget bones are brittle
And hearts do break, and queens are still princesses underneath. 
Handle your love like a flightless bird,
Offering your hand to sit and catch a fall
Or a slip upon the icy world.
Be not a king, be a boy, and she shall forever be your girl. 
© Phillip Mellor 2015