She was my Mayfair girl,
with hair that fell like golden rain.
She was a perfect girl,
stolen from my book of dreams,
stands before me shimmering, delicate,
unsuffering it seems, she’s an offering.

She was my sunny girl,
hair all spun in daisy chains.
She was my funny girl,
with the spirit of an ancient child,
peering from her deep blue eyes,
soul unfolding filling up the sky,
Pretty butterfly.
Oh, she’s my pretty butterfly.