Her lashes are sooty coal
Her smiles are exactly shaped,
I wish I were a mold.
To stare mutely at her down the road
Watch her laugh out those teeth as white as snow
The trumpeting trumpet, she’s that I love to blow
Maybe she don’t: but I think she knows.

Her backside curved valuable like gold
If she is money my all should be sold
‘Beauty Queen’ I call her chola,
Her architect had a plan neatly nocuous
For making her so deftly gorgeous
Such a beam: she could be my nurture
Even when she says not a word to me by the road,

Her presence is so-so,
She is such a beam never to let go,
Every now and now she walks by the road
High heals talking: I stand like a mold
Eyes wondering like a lost toad
Maybe in her I could find a home
But how can, when she steals an inner-bold?

Dangerously sharp as a woody thorn
For her, my skin is willing to bleed
I hope it yeilds result like a batchfed.
She is a tempting sin I love to hold
Her name she says not to me by the road
My liver and nerves fail,
Science may say its virus but I’m simply scared.

I make no sound nor pretty word
Pretty hurts
Honestly I yield
Wish I could talk
All my coins I drop in a wishing-well,
Yet, most flaunting got me so cold
As she passes by the road.