He stood below my boudoir window
Singing from the heart
Waiting for me to listen
To his majestic piece of art
He gazed up so longingly
Unaware of how bad he sung
All the while he kept up his hope
To which he so fiercely clung
You see, I was there all along-
I saw those purple tights grow
And I ran into the kitchen
To cook up the best thing I know..
An iced lemon cake
With vanilla ice cream
Just a little something
To keep me in his dreams
But the poor, sweet fella
Gave up and finally went home
Not smelling the baking cake,
He chose to return to his gnome
I do hope he'll return
Forgetting his distress
Because he did actually have
The right address!
A/N: This is not autobiographical!!!! ;)
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©ElizabellaJones