Emmalou, don't you grow
For adulthood darkens and sours
The moonly white of thy brow
From the clear days of yore,
Emmalou, don't you grow.
Emmalou, don't you enter
This garden's open door,
Cupid lies in its center
And his eyes' dark and sour,
Emmalou don't you listen to me.

Emmalou comes to my bed at night:
"Now Abby, tell me a story!", she orders.
"I can tell you about stars and the Universe's borders, or just moonlight."