The Gala Queen! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! dicentra Alba Poem by john (called jack) wren

What can one say about one who has all
as she waits for her carriage to go to the ball
dressed to the nines, in the purist of white
that touches the heart, and tends to excite

With a body like Venus, as pure as a dove
as sensual as Aphrodite, Goddess of Love
she just oozes breeding by many a mile
this refined Lady with the Mona Lisa smile.

Soon, they will crown her the Gala Queen
she'll reign from London to Old Aberdeen
and display to her subjects in gardens afar
such dignity that beholds a star

Many will come from far and wide
and humbly beg to sit by her side.