by Nick Gisburne
They snatch her from the palace in the night
The tiny princess, kidnapped from her bed
Without her joy the land has lost its light
The people soon believe that she is dead
Her magic is a rare and royal kind
A precious gift, more subtle than a sigh
The tears of any princess cure the blind
As surely as the sunrise lights the sky
The callous captors interrupt her sleep
They terrorise her young and fragile heart
To steal her tears they make the princess weep
They plague her as her spirit falls apart
And on the day her stolen tears run dry
She bows her head in darkness, blind, to die
