Hearts were lost the day she came
The envy of all who lay eyes upon her
Beautiful enough to upset nature
Face shaped like a diamond heart
She was called Beatrice
Raised among all perfect lilies
Voice like a sound from trees
Touch like an early morning breeze
She is a perfect Sunday gift
One that always give my soul a lift
Whatever she wears is a perfect fit
And in asking for her hand I will accept no defeat
For your love my Beatrice
I will fight like the great Alexander
Till you become my personal Blessing
Cus I want nothing more than to be with you all season.
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