Purple Warriors
Once upon a time in Fairyland,
There were four hundred and sixty three princes
And only three princesses
Each of them different,
Unique,
And with a mind of their own.
They
Were the chosen ones.
Chosen to be together
For months
In salubrious climes.
Months passed,
Seasons changed.
Arguments turned into agreements,
Conflicts became friendships.
Slowly,
Olives, whites and blues turned purple.
Not exact but nearing perfection.
All good things do end
And so did their story.
These fairy warriors
Metamorphed into kings and queens.
It was now time
To go separate ways
And rule their kingdoms
In their own way.
They bade a teary adieu
With promises of being in touch.
Some did, some couldn't.
Each one slowly taking control
Of their domain, their life.
Years passed.
Rivers flowed under the bridge of time.
The kings and queens grew old.
Some became masters
Of all that they surveyed.
And some,
Made a quiet exit.
Till we meet again
Became hope we meet again.
Yet...
Every time
There was a mention
Of those salubrious climes,
Each sent a silent prayer upwards
For the rest of his or her clan.
For those warriors
Who turned kings and queens.
Each knew that
They may not meet again,
As before, all together,
Here in Fairyland.
But deep within
Each prayed
That they meet again,
All four hundred sixty three kings
And three queens,
In the Land of Far Beyond.
