THE PRINCESS

The Princess on Parade

Each morning she rises with flair and delight,
A vision of style, in colors so bright.
No day is the same—no garment reused,
She chooses her wardrobe as royalty would choose.

Sequins or satin, or floral in bloom,
She glides through the hallway, perfume in her plume.
With a twinkle of eye and a strut so serene,
She is grace on the move—a petite, living queen.

She greets every soul with a soft little sway,
As if blessing our burdens and brightening the day.
Her charm is magnetic, her joy contagious,
Her poise unshaken, her mood outrageous.

From room unto room she commands a mild hush,
As whispers of wonder and compliments rush.
Is she from Paris, or maybe Versailles?
No one can say, but we all sigh.

With a face full of sunshine and features so fair,
She tosses her head and ascends every stair.
She doesn’t just walk—she reigns where she goes,
With jewels in her collar and bows on her toes.

She curtsies in silence, accepts each caress,
Then pirouettes off in her daily new dress.
No tantrums, no barking, no fuss, no complaint—
Just the presence of peace, like a living saint.

And though she is regal, adored and adored,
She never demands, she’s simply adored.
She teaches us kindness with every small prance,
A lesson in joy, a masterclass dance.

Some say she’s a Duchess, some say a Muse,
Others suspect she once walked in high shoes.
But those in the know all smile and say,
“She’s a Princess, of course…

in a four-pawed way.”