The king sits in his throne,
Courtiers chatter around him.
He hears a name.
Atarah.
It spreads, like wildfire,
Conversations are consumed by it.
A girl.
The name belongs to a girl,
They say.
A girl with a garden,
A girl who grows white lilies
A girl who grows blue irises
A girl who grows daisies.
A girl who will be his.
YOU ARE READING
The Girl In The Glass Box
Poetry'And he would leave her, There, crying on the bed with Nothing but her name'
