The princess dances, draped in all the world's white:

white shoes, white fan, white skirt and train,

white lips, white blossoms, and one hundred pearl chains.

Her skin is as pale as glistening dew drops

and her

eyes are as gray as the slopes of 

moon rock.

She steps outside; finds the stone balcony

white-washed, of course, as spectators can see.

She leans over the kingdom, and emits a soft tune.

Then a gust sends her tumbling, straight down to her doom.

The crowd disperses; stares turn to loud shrieks.

Blood pools from her wig, from a hole left to leak.

A child crouches forward, and feels so relieved:

dips his finger in red,

scrubs it right on his sleeve.

His actions, though shocking, douse the remnants of fright.

For nobody wants a world

that's just white.