Norodom Sihanouk
I met a prince
And watched him age
Thru photographs made
At each turning year.
His black eyes turn from
Humor to pain to
A watchfulness that
A young man never
Had. He dreamed of
Music and of dance -
Took vows of silence
To hide his longing for
Another path, yet not taken.
A king now, he still holds
Truth in the curve of his
Hand and in the line of his
Brow.
poem by Charlotte Ballard
Added by Poetry Lover
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