Mary McDonald
Mary McDonald, I met you in the street
When you were tired and your head was ailin',
Yet you shot emerald perfume from your eyes,
Hoarded from the forests of your ancient Balin.
Mary McDonald, you giggled as you passed —
I wondered what the boy with hairy chest
Carved on the wall of his inexpensive spirit
Memorial to your infinite unrest.
When you were tired and your head was ailin',
Yet you shot emerald perfume from your eyes,
Hoarded from the forests of your ancient Balin.
Mary McDonald, you giggled as you passed —
I wondered what the boy with hairy chest
Carved on the wall of his inexpensive spirit
Memorial to your infinite unrest.
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