Mrs. Seymour Fentolin, with grace so refined,
Whispers nursery rhymes for the tender-hearted kind.
In the heat of night, to their beds, the children retreat,
A tale of love blossoms in the fervent heat.
King Cophetua, in the summer’s bright glare,
Sees a beggar maid, with beauty so rare.
Instantly smitten, his heart can’t delay,
He proposes at once, without a word to say.
In the bloom of springtime, work hums like a tune,
As Prince Tristan prepares for a journey too soon.
To escort the princess to marry his kin,
But love’s wicked potion soon starts to spin.
A rendezvous of remorse, their hearts intertwined,
Tristan and Isolde, their love, misaligned.
In secret they whisper, in darkness, they pine,
Their love, a sweet poison, a forbidden vine.
King Cophetua weds his beggar maid fair,
A union of hearts beyond earthly care.
In love’s sudden burst, their souls find their way,
Together they dance, in the light of the day.
Blow me eyes, says the rambling sailor bold,
As he tells tales of treasures and hearts made of gold.
The derelict landlubber dreams by the sea,
Of warm babies and love, wild and free.
In the nursery of hearts, where little children grow,
Mrs. Seymour Fentolin’s words in old stories flow.
With whispers of nursery rhymes, in the heat of the night,
the little children dream till morning light.
WoPoLi 
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