White

Somewhere in London, she stands there in white,
Dark eyes reflecting these black clouds above,
She gathers her might and studies her plight,
While the rain falls on twenty white doves.

White lies befallen and now she’s crestfallen,
O’er a love that was never to be,
Stiff arms, white knuckles, a face of pale skin,
Conjure thousands of reasons to flee,

To white sands and freedom; fresh air to breathe,
Coconut drinks and a reason to thrive,
A place to forget this white bridal wreath,
Sunglasses, a book, and a life to revive.

Where she’ll crack a slight smile and flip back her hair, 
Reminding herself: white knights… they are rare.

- Scott Alexander McKenzie