Flowers

Scribbles and doodles upon her book
With dazed and dazzled look
Therefore never mistake her for a fool
For what she can do can make you woo

A thief of flowers there she is
As quick as her quill there is stills
Flowers that blossom that she picks
Upon the press there it is

Mouth as soft and gentle as her face
No match for anyone on a race
Embroidered with delicate lace
Such beauty one cannot foresee

Flowers that blooms in the mouth
For that is what she always take
Flowers that gleamed with colours
All scribbled down her book