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She
A nightful of fairyness
A moonful of mysteries
A dayful of roses
A sunful of emotions
A riverful of spirit
A seaful of pearls

She was not my girl
She was not my girl

Me
A desertful  of solitude
A seaful of tears
A heartful of poetry
An eyeful of waiting
A roadful of leaving
A guitarful of songs
A bookful of tailes
A dreamful of her


she was not my girll
she was not my girl
Ah sure it wasn't long
last Saturday night,
before I was dancing out on the green.  

I stepped the dance
to general delight;
And I danced the skellemesago.

But not before long
I drew there a crowd
who thought me rather odd.

And sure says I
to two poli-ce-men,
It's only me dancing the wherligig jig.  
  
But with menacing look,
says one to me then,
You'll come right along with us.  

Yet being inclined,
to dance tru the night,
I skipped my heals and fled.

It was such a fleeing,
as think you might,
That I danced the Irish trot.

With fine trotting trot
as ever was got,
I danced away from those men.  

Yet intent they seemed,
On following me,
And dancing the rufty tufty

So up tailes all,
we three did go,
and the maid peept out the window.
There is more where this came from for sure.

— The End —