Farah

Forget all the clowns, that come to woo you, half of them worn down, as loud as their woes, ships blow their hooters, they are all so slow, not just at the dance, but down each avenue , they admire your elan, a queen non disposed, bars are full of losers, you’d rather be alone, nothing comes by chance, your choices maybe fewer, but love's a fine repast, barefoot alive on stones, comfort never refused, happy you're their one, find another prance, aboard a Yankee schooner, who needs golden crowns, to make them swoon.