Ah, ma bichette!

You do to me what

Cherry blossom does to the wet mornings of

April,

Showering my days with such

Delightful confetti, a

Celebration of your pulchritude.

 

Ah, ma bichette!

Your dulcet tones do

Battle for superiority with the

Songbird, a

Sweet symphony to soundtrack my

Delirium.

 

Ah, ma bichette!

You’re the kind of

Girl who’d feel most at home in an

Apiary,

Queen bee, sweet like honey,

You’re clearly worth the toothache!

 

Ah, ma bichette!

As beautiful as the

Bloodstained skyline at

Dusk,

A haemorrhage of the sun, you

Seep across my horizon,

Delaying the darkness of night.

 

Ah, ma bichette! Ah ma bichette!

And you still haven’t got the best out of me yet!