And I think I believe that,
if stones could dream,
they’d dream of being laid
side-by-side,
piece-by-piece,
and turned into a castle
for some towering queen
they’re unable to know.

And when that queen’s daughter
came of age,
I think she’d be lovely
and stubborn and brave,
and suitors would journey
from kingdoms away
just to make themselves known.

And I think that I know the bitter dismay of a lover who brought
fresh brouquets every day
when she turned him away
to remember some knave
who once gave
just one rose, one day, years ago.