The shine of sun is nothing to her eyes,

Nothing but love lives within her smile,

She is such a beauty why should she be wise,

To see her many men would go a mile.

Her locks fall down in the colour of corn,

She glides in the room as a ballerina,

Her skin is as fresh as the day she was born,

If grace was pure it is her demeanour.

Yet love is a dream we long to be true,

Dreams are for sleeping no matter how real,

Many men believe in love, I can’t say I do,

Love is for the poor to escape their deal.

I know she’s there and waiting for me,

Perhaps she’s reading sat under a tree.