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.