Death of an angel

I used to see a little angel
Sitting under a tree
Playing with flowers
Running after butterflies.

Months passed away
I did not see her
Then one sad evening
I saw her shadow again.

It was her, or was it?
Where was that angel?
The playful, innocent one?
Who always loved and played?

I saw a sad woman
Who has lost her wings,
And along with that
Every thing I loved.

“You don’t know? Do you?”
A friend queried me.
“A prince fell in love with her.
But was too wary of her nature.”

“He thought she laughed too much,
He thought she was too naïve
Too playful and childish
Too innocent to be queen.”

“So he twisted and tainted her
Till she became like now
Then he got fed up with her
And married someone new.”