In a land that has long since been lost on any map you might find today, there once lived a little prince who dwelt in a tall pagoda.  He ruled a beautiful kingdom, which lay in the very heart of a long chain of mountains.  Every morning the little prince would go to his window and watch the golden sun rise beyond the peaks and bathe everything in a warm glow.  But the little prince never felt this warmness himself, for his father, the Great Emperor, kept him locked inside the pagoda day and night.

One day the little prince was looking down at his village.  Just as always, it seemed to spring from the green garden, traversing the entire landscape, dotted with beautiful trees that blossomed pink and white flowers every spring.  There were crystal clear brooks tumbling over shining black stone; jade bridges connecting the land in between, and houses snuggled together with their unique curved and layered rooftops pointing at the sky.  But the little prince saw no beauty in any of this; instead, all he saw was green, and boxes with roofs, and the constant humdrum lives of his subjects.

At the time, the little prince was watching three children carry a gold-trimmed box down to the riverbank.  Immediately, the prince recognized the boy carrying the box.  He was the son of the Royal Horse Trainer; their family minded all the animals in the entire kingdom.  They were hard working individuals, seldom seen gossiping and reposing, as was customary of most normal people.

Intrigued, the little prince called down to the boy, “Why aren’t you working like your father?  Or at school with the other children?”

“The fish died last night,” the village boy called up to the little prince – as if that explained everything.

“What do you mean by that?  Fish die all the time,” said the little prince, very wisely.

“Well,” said the village boy, very slowly, “we came to give him a proper burial.”

Hearing this, the little prince burst out laughing.  In fact, the prince laughed so hard he worried that the seams of his beautiful silk gown might break any moment – then he would be in for it.  Quick as a snap, the little prince fixed his face sternly, as a prince should, and returned to watching the village boy, who had turned around to face the river once more.

He and his two friends set the box in the water, watched it float out of sight, then began to weep.  Again, the little prince couldn’t help laughing.  He shook his head and thought, “What silly children!  Look at them cry over a fish, which is hardly more interesting than a rock!”

Now the village boy turned to look at the laughing prince.  He shouted, “I pity you little prince!  Your heart is cold as ice!  And when you are older, your enemies will be as numerous as the stars.”

The little prince was shocked!  Never before, in his entire life, had anyone dared insult or yell at him (except his parents, who did so freely).  The prince had half a mind to call his Royal Guards and have them arrest the boy ... but what good would that do?  He shook his fair head, and his flat hat with its four tassels shook with it.

At dinnertime, the little prince was still upset over what the village boy had said.  Finally he told his father, the Great Emperor, what had happened that morning.  The Great Emperor turned his head sternly and said, “It is not wise to let your subjects speak without reserve, especially children.  It will be those children who grow up and work for you, once you grow up and become Emperor.”

“What do you suggest I do, father?” asked the little prince, who was sitting upon a pile of leather bound books.  The prince always did this so he could see eye to eye with the Emperor and other important members of the Emperor’s council.  They all thought it was very clever of the little prince – and clever he was.

“I will send for the village boy this evening.  But it falls on you to decide his punishment,” said the Great Emperor. “Remember, your subjects reflect and react upon every decision you make, so make wise decisions.”   

The little prince thought hard.  He wanted the village boy punished, but the little prince didn’t want to do the punishing himself.  Often the Great Emperor sat on his royal throne and condemned subjects who had done wrong.  Unfortunately the little prince had never paid attention to the Emperor’s decisions – except for one time when a very cruel man had been sentenced to death.

But the little prince knew the village boy’s crime was not quite so villainous that he deserved death.  However, the little prince had to think of some punishment before the evening sun fell - a punishment that would make the boy respect the little prince next time.

Evening fell and still the little prince had not decided upon a proper punishment.  When the Emperor called his son to the throne room, the little prince hurried there, clicking his tongue and thinking nervously.  He worried for his heart, which beat so rapidly it might burst from his chest at any moment.

Yet the little prince looked nothing so nervous as the village boy did when he walked into the great throne room.  The village boy was holding his hat in both hands, ringing it as though it was full of water.  When the Great Emperor addressed him, the village boy trembled.

“Young citizen, you have committed great evil by mocking your future Emperor, and now you must face your crime as a proper subject should be willing to do,” said the Great Emperor.  

With that the Emperor drifted from the room, leaving the little prince and the village boy alone to stare at each other.  The little prince sat on his father’s tall, gold throne.  When he looked down, the village boy was trembling so furiously that the prince almost felt sorry for him.  “What have I done!” thought the little prince, beginning to panic.

Thankfully all the dreary days training under the stern royal court flooded back to the little prince.  An Emperor must not be weak!  So the prince squared his shoulders, cleared his throat and said, “Charged with the crime of offending the royal prince ... Do you find yourself guilty?”

“Yes,” the village boy managed to squeak.

Obviously the village boy was not subjected to the same cruel training that the young prince braved each day.  It took much more than a cruel face, a harsh punishment, or the death of a silly fish to bring tears to the prince’s eyes.  Truly, the little prince could not remember the last time his face was washed with tears.  Tears are a sign of weakness, and an Emperor must not be weak!

“I have decided your punishment!” the little prince declared at last.

The village boy fell to his knees, and pleaded, “Please be gracious young Emperor!  Please, spare my life!”

“I don’t want your life,” the little prince said. “But I want what is most dear to you.”

“What is most dear to me can not be taken,” the village boy said, much to the prince’s confusion. “It is not something material that can be passed from one hand to another.”

“I want it!” the little prince demanded.

“Perhaps you could have it ... But first, let me give you this,” the village boy told the prince.  Sorrow flooding his expression, the boy wiped his eyes and lifted a finger to his shoulder.

For the first time that evening, the little prince noticed a bright yellow bird sitting on the boy’s shoulder.  It was the plainest, most common thing the little prince had ever seen; yet it was so tame it hopped right onto the boy’s finger without being told. The little prince was amazed.  He watched hungrily as the village boy brought the yellow bird closer and let it hop onto his own shoulder.

“Please take good care of her,” said the village boy.

“Very well,” said the little prince, and added, “Remember not to offend authority so freely, next time.”

The village boy nodded, he bowed, then sadly slunk out the door.  When the boy was out of sight the little prince turned his head to look at the yellow bird.  It reminded him of the sun.

“I suppose I’ll have to make you a bed in my room,” the little prince told the yellow bird, which was called a canary.  And so they proceeded to his beautiful lantern-lit room, covered in silks and tapestries – all of which were quite expensive.  Yet no matter the beauty or the cost, none of it seemed to suit the yellow bird.

At last the prince gave up and threw his hands into the air.  He reached for the golden bell on his nightstand and rung it.  It sounded like the tinkle glass makes during a toast.  Instantly, the Royal Governor entered the chambers.

“Little Emperor, how may I be of service?” he said, and bowed low.

“Tell me ... What type of bed would suit this canary?” asked the little prince.

The Royal Governor pondered for a moment.  He stroked his pointed beard and said, “Perhaps a velvet cushion.”

So the little prince set a scarlet cushion on his bedside table, and set the canary on that.  But no sooner had the canary landed and chirped once, then it was off into the air, coming to land on the little prince’s shoulder once more.  Again the prince turned to his nightstand – but this time he selected the silver bell.  When this bell rung it sounded like wind chimes.  Almost at once, the Royal Chef marched into the chamber.  

He got to his knees, touching his forehead to the carpet and said, “Little Emperor, was your dinner inadequate?”

“That’s not it,” said the little prince, waving his hand. “I wondered if you knew what type of bed would suit a canary.”

“May I suggest an angel cake?  They are the softest and sweetest of all,” said the Royal Chef.

The little prince thought the chef was very smart and ordered an angel cake to be baked and brought to him at once.  When the cake was fresh out of the oven and allowed to cool for several minutes it was brought to the prince’s chamber.  Just as before, the little prince set the cake upon his bedside table.  This time the canary sat a little longer and pecked a few crumbs off the top before she flew back onto the prince’s shoulder.

Horribly frustrated, the little prince seized the copper bell on his nightstand and shook it furiously.  It sounded like water droplets.  In a matter of minutes, the Royal Horse Trainer entered the chambers.

The little prince had never the cause to ring the copper bell before.  He was quite shocked to see the Royal Trainer appear in his room wearing dirty boots and a filthy robe.  In fact, the little prince hardly thought it was worth his time to bother asking the man anything at all, yet –

“Little Emperor, please forgive my lateness.  How can I help?” the Royal Horse Trainer asked earnestly, with a bow.

“Well, I doubt someone of your intellect would know what type of bed would suit this canary,” the little prince sighed.

“A perch and cage would best suit your canary,” the Royal Horse Trainer replied.

Still skeptical, the little prince waved the Royal Trainer away and sent for a cage and perch.  When the items arrived they looked so common and ordinary compared to the rest of the ornate bedroom that the prince scoffed.  He didn’t even bother to set the perch on the table or hang the cage from the window.  Nevertheless, the canary flew straight into the cage and began to sing happily.  It was the most beautiful song the prince ever heard.

Immediately he had a dish of seed and a water fountain set inside the cage.  The prince spent the next few days decorating the cage with water lilies from the pond and deep green vines from the garden; then he covered the floor with cherry blossoms.  Whenever the prince looked out his window from that day on, the canary would perch on his shoulder and sing sweetly.  Day by day, the little prince grew fonder of his land, his people, and the bird.  Everything seemed idyllic when accompanied by the canary’s lovely voice.

   At first the yellow bird was shy, but soon became more affectionate.  The prince cared for the bird; he filled her food dish, refreshed the water, and played games of hide and seek together.  One day the prince was yelling at someone in the garden for doing something silly when the canary jumped upon his shoulder and nipped the prince’s ear – much to his anger.

“I am a prince!  You don’t bite princes.” He told the bird sternly, locking it away in the cage.

But the bird bit the prince many times after: sometimes affectionately, other times to wake him or remind him of bad things he had done.  Not once did the little prince smite the canary.

More time passed.  The bond shared by the little prince and the canary grew.  Soon everyone was talking about the canary and how it stopped the prince’s foul temper, and calmed him when he was upset.  Before long, everyone wanted his or her own bird.  

But of course, good things never last ...

Slowly the little prince began to tire of the canary.  It wasn’t that he didn’t love her – it was just that the canary never changed, and sometimes the prince wished to get away with things that the canary wouldn’t let him do.  Day after day, the bird acted the same old way, doing the same old things.  Because the little prince found interests elsewhere he progressively began to feed, water, and exercise the canary less.

The little prince was working at his desk one night, writing beautiful Chinese letters on a piece of parchment while the canary watched him, perched upon a lantern.  It was very late, the prince was tired, and his letters were starting to show it.  They became sloppier by the minute and frustrated him.

“Oh what am I to do?  Uncle is coming to visit on my birthday tomorrow and I wanted to give him this letter to show him how good at calligraphy I’ve become.  He would be so proud,” said the little prince, pouting.  Then he pounded the table with his fist and the canary chirped. “Why don’t you sing?” the little prince asked the bird.  

Unfortunately the prince had actually forgotten to feed the bird that day and she was so hungry that she could barely make a sound.  Even still, the canary worked up all her strength and let out a beautiful barrage of notes to ease the prince’s tension (for that is how much she loved him).  They worked well into the night.  The prince did not even go to bed; he fell asleep on his desk, pen in hand.

When the prince woke he saw that the letter was finished.  The little prince was so delighted he ran straight to his father.  As usual, the Great Emperor was drinking his morning tea and smiled at the sight of his son.

“Those are beautiful letters,” said the Great Emperor. “Did the little bird help you write them?”

“Well ... yes.  I suppose,” said the little prince, wanting all the credit himself.

“Go fetch her.  Your uncle will be here soon and he has heard so much about the bird” said the Great Emperor.  “He wants to meet both of you.”

Without hesitation the little prince rushed to his bedchamber and shouted, “Bird! Bird?  Where are you?  We are needed in the Great Hall at once.”  When the bird did not come, the little prince was furious.  “I’m warning you!  There’s no time for silly games.”

Still the bird would not come out.  Only when the prince went to fetch his pen did he discover where the yellow canary was.  She wasn’t hiding; rather she was lying on the table next to the lantern.  At first the prince was angry with her.  Normal birds didn’t lie wherever they wanted.  They went back to their perch and tucked themselves in their feathers.  He lifted the canary into his hands and ...

The little prince gasped!  Her head lolled obliquely, as though a mere thread attached it.  Quickly, the prince cradled the canary in his palm for support, and with his other hand he stroked her gently.

“Wake up,” he whispered in her ear.

A tremble sounded from below, shaking the floor.  All the doors were opening to make way for the Great Emperor’s brother.  There was a rushing of feet up the stairs.  Next thing, seven maids came knocking on the prince’s door asking to be let in.

“You’re late, you’re late!” they all cried. “Have you forgotten everything important?”

But the prince could not move, at least not until the poor canary did first.  He held her close to his face, unbelieving.  It couldn’t be true, but so many signs clung to the truth and wouldn’t let it go, paralyzed legs ... sleeping agate eyes ... bright yellow feathers ...  Only yesterday they flapped!

The outside riot died down.  Everything seemed dead ... Even the prince.  He stood rigid on the hardwood floor, holding the bird – and the only thing not statue-like about him were the tiny crystal tears, swimming down his face.  They splashed through the air, wetting the bird.  The prince prayed they might be tears of life.

“Things like that only happen in fairytales,” the prince told himself. “And,” – he sniffed – “And a prince must never, ever be weak.”

Oh, but he was!  Tears continued to stream down the prince’s face freely.  He finally realized that everything is weak.  Everything is fragile.  Everything needs love, hope, and care ... even princes and emperors!  And anything that didn’t need these things couldn’t possibly be alive.  

Or else they were hiding it.  The prince was taught to act dead the day he was born.

A knock came at the door, this time quiet and patient.  When the prince did not answer (and once several minutes passed) the knob began to turn.  The little prince begged it to lock – he wanted to be alone – but he couldn’t move either.  So the door opened.  

There, framed in the doorway, was a man with eyes that warmed like fire and burned bright with wisdom.  At first the little prince wanted the man to go away ... But with each step the man took, the prince felt drawn toward him, and when the man was only five steps away the little prince ran to embrace him.  For the first time ever, he and his uncle held each other.  It wasn’t the kind of embrace filled entirely with joy (as the prince would have preferred), because it was one of ultimate sorrow.

“What troubles you so?” the uncle asked.

There was silence.  Finally the prince managed to stop crying long enough to form words with his mouth.  “The canary ... she ... she’s –” But the little prince could not say it.  Instead, he wept. “I’m so lonely!”

“A prince should never be lonely,” said his uncle very wisely.  

It was exactly what the little prince didn’t expect to hear.  All his life he was forced to be strong and stand alone, and now this strange man was embracing him, and denouncing everything he was ever taught.

“Because lonely people turn angry and bitter ... or they give up on life completely.  And nobody, not even the Great Emperor, can make important decisions all by himself.”

Now the little prince understood the children from before.  He missed the canary’s song, the way it sat on his shoulder wherever he went, and even it’s painful pecks.  And worst of all, the bird had left when the little prince least expected it.

“There should be a law preventing death on my birthday,” he said. “It just isn’t right.”

“You never know when something terrible will happen, or when someone special might be lost forever,” said his uncle, pushing the little boy away so they could see eye to eye. “And that is why we must cherish everything, no matter how insignificant it may seem.  Never lose sight of what’s most important either.”

For a minute the uncle looked at the letter, which the prince had crumpled and dropped without even knowing it.  As the prince held the precious little bird in his hands, he realized how something so beautiful could be lost so easily.  He thought of all the little things he could have done to keep her alive.  

“But ... it’s too late,” the little prince whimpered.

“You wrong,” said his uncle, smiling. “It is never too late.  You can always ask something that dear back into your heart.  Love is forgiving.”

The little prince looked down at the canary.  In his heart he begged and pleaded for mercy and redemption ... Then, just like in a fairytale, the little bird came back to life.  She stood up, nipped the prince affectionately and sung her most beautiful song yet.  It brought tears to everyone’s eyes.  Side by side the prince and his uncle walked down to the Great Hall, with the bright yellow bird to guide them.