All imagination, she thinks he sees her light,
An image found her mind, and she saw without sight:
“Positively pleasant, her figure graced his mind.
Hatpins dripping hot sauce, a live and burning kind.”
Played a fool and abandoned freedom’s purity,
Dropped her handkerchief, now lives insecurity.
Dappled little countenance, poor embarrassed soul,
Don’t you think that maybe, it was not real at all?
