Classic Poem

Her eyes are blue—a lovely hue
For eyes; her cheeks are pink,
And for the cheek, ’twixt me and you,
That color’s right, I think.

Her fingers taper prettily,
Her teeth are white as pearls—
Her hands seem softer far to me
Than any other girl’s.

Her figure’s trim—it is petite—
I like them just that way,
And truly, maiden half so sweet
You’d not find every day.

And yet, alas! she’s not my choice,
This creature of my rhyme—
Because her soft and rich-toned voice
Is going all the time.