The Vagabound
The Vagabond
A vagabond, or so it was thought
Carried his belongings over his shoulder
I was young, he, not that much older
He was so handsome, but conceited not
I wondered at the magic he brought
A gentleman was he, his manners were self
Taught,
I blushed when he smiled at me, I had been
Caught,
I smiled back, his eyes seemed to smolder
If passion was his true intent
His gifts could be heaven sent
Alas, he was but a vagabond
And I am a Demoiselle
Did he follow me down by the pond?
The answer, I will never tell
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