“Room 342?” I queried, mild
“Try upstairs…” was your reply.
You gave a sleepy grin, then smiled
I felt my soul to quiver. Neigh,
It truly trembled at the sight
of dressed-down beauty’s shimm’ring eyes;
like Death had passed a wild night.
I stood with awe at such a prize!
I felt compelled to tip my hand
With gentle smile I replied
And with a bow, graceful, grand
You took my arm, and strolled inside.
To passing strangers this I tell
So proud am I that I was there
Lonely, lost, outside the room
Of pretty girl, with wild hair.