MY FAIR LADY

She came as a doe
To a verdant meadow
On a bright summer day
In the month of May.

Her glorious emerald eyes
Made me swoon like rye;
The tip of her nose
Shinedst as dew on rose.

Her crimson-red lips,
From which honey dripped,
Carolled like a thrush
From a calm, clement bush.

The spritz gushed along,
As she chirped the song:
Which was sweet as lyre
And pleasant as myrrh.

I ran forth to the boonies;
Nighed the fair lass.
But she vanished in a swift,
As fast as a hunting cat.

Later I understood
When wandering in the woods,
That my fair lady was no human;
But the nymph of the terrain. 

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