Light as a little lamp,
Who shines in the darkened sky.
As stars twinkle up above,
Even above the birds do fly.
Whose fairness is free from pen,
And lovely words of rhyme.
Whose eyes are a poem itself,
Who is called as mine.
Whose curly hairs are brownish though,
And sweetest is her meekly voice.
Whose heart is sweet as sugar though,
And is free from cacophonic noise..
If I love her true she may be mine,
And that day will the true moon shine.