Her skin was so fair,
I thought she stepped out
of a fairy tale.
Her raven tresses melded into beauty,
like Lord Byron's night.
Her voice was a poet's dream
when she used it kindly.
Her body was a work of art
sculpted by Roman gods.
Everything she said was perfect.
Everything I learned about her made me admire her more.
But in spite of all this, she couldn't make me forget about you.
My little Irish girl.