Poetry lies in the fields of Brazil
Within my heart yet to reveal.
It is beauty that one can smell,
A sweet aroma that surrounds Her well.

And Her eyes, tho I have not seen,
Perhaps in them the sky holds its blue,
Or perhaps She has stolen
The emeralds green.

Poetry is beauty for one to touch,
Her velvet skin, Her heart to clutch.
And while I knew Her, for some short time
In another world, Her heart was mine.

And Her beauty, I've seen only in dreams,
I still can keep her image well.
And Her name, the seraphs they sing
And call Her by the name of Gabriella.