Is it vintage, she said.
She touched my cheek,
You are aristocrat, she said.
I shake my head with a smile.
I have my mother's bones, I said.
I picture you in Paris,
You should go there, she said.
Lovely words to ponder on,
But doubt fills my head.
If moonlight was gemstones,
And my father was a prince,
I would be Queen of all I own.
But moonbeams are only air,
And my father is a pauper,
And I am just a mare.
