Those pearls she wore.
I adored them so. At night it seemed as though the moon layed in small drops on her neck. She was beautiful, and she was mine.

Those pearls she wore.
They were my gift, and how she treasured them, I her. No amount of joyous words could relate my love of her to you.

Those pearls she wore.
Never grew old as did she. Time went on and she tarnished but her pearls stayed beautiful as ever.

Those pearls she wore.
Will always be with her, as she lays in her everlasting bed. They still look like the moon, she was still beautiful.  But until I lay with her again, alone, I will call her mine.