Oh... a new year... silly as it may be,
it fills my heart with lithe expectations
that magically and gracefully, of course,
a frog will be transformed into a prince.
His gaze will be inquisitive, warm, and sensual.
His lips will be tender and soft.
He will find me amongst the drunken crowd,
cheering and singing off-key.
But he’ll fall before me on his knees and take my hand.
I’ll hear his sweet voice whisper my name...
“Dulcinea... Dulcinea...”
Of course, I’d have to ask,
“Have you been drinking?”
because I can’t stand to break his heart.
But he doesn’t know that every year
as the clock strikes midnight,
I run, run, run out of the ballroom,
down the marble stairs, and I lose my shoe....
Or was that another book?
Who cares? I’m doing well. So far...
But, dear me, when I get to the palace grounds,
I find my coach is a pumpkin. Say wot?!
My clothes look worn and tattered,
and I run, and run, and run,
I want to hide... can’t let people see
the reality of this person: me.
Silly indeed to think that at the stroke of midnight,
I would be different from who I am... have always been,
that just sixty seconds could change my heart,
my life, my looks!
So I’ve decided to write my plan
and stay true to form.
All I need is a blank piece of paper.
I’ll start neatly at the top.
I’ll dip my pen in golden ink,
and with my words paint magnificent fantasies.
I will go to where this planet meets the sky,
and I’ll pen the coolness of heavenly blue.
I’ll draw hot images of love,
a pale margarita — green — to quench a poet’s thirst.
Mind, heart, and pen will come together,
and I will write stories to delight the senses.
Some will draw a tear, some will make me smile,
but I’ll bring color to the pale canvas
for I, too — not just you my prince, my muse —
I, too, dream of windmills, clouds of cotton,
and words set to music on the meadow
where pixies and goblins dance.
