I went to the squantum faire.
A handsome lad was there.
He admired my raven hair
And seemed to really care
So I began to share
More than I’d ever dare

He seemed like someone rare
My excitement hard to bear
We made a fulsome pair
Alas he was just a snare.

Today I sit and glare
And sometimes even swear
That I’d been made a mare
And Motley’s clothes must wear.
ljm