Moni Peal and Beau Ideal.
Rode the Paris Ferris Wheel.
It was love at first glance.
She's the fairest lass in France.
Beau asked Moni for her hand.
Though it was a flash, Romance.
Three hundred made the wedding Dance.
Half of Flanders was entranced.
As it passed mere happenstance.
Is it not the Grand Parlance?
Nectared graces overwhelming must
Underline your pulse-halting charms;
Utopian opal spelt by honeyed terms,
Resistless pearl cased in mortal dust.
Fair-miened nymphs kings did melt;
But such sly vixens, like old Phoenix
Acing artful Death's ambrosial tricks,
Would find your rig a conundrum yet.
Dead fancy's fairy in gowns of wool,
Would vote this trim flawless figure
Finer than fiction's gildings meager;
Nature’s art unsullied by apish tool.
Nor would pageant-lauded beauties,
Though posh their foppish styles be;
With roses laureled in limitless glee,
Dim this time's own queen of cuties.
Where lurks this sure paragon high,
Beauty-capped acme of poets' tales;
Yet glamorous and unbeaten in vales
Of breath and death where jewels lie?