Mrs. Badcrumble

Those little bells on my fool's cap
all witness to my sad defect
crowning my pale seriousness
in most ridiculous distress

Such ugliness laid eyes on you
In conversation, plain to see

I dare a smile in shy excuse
Oh do they know the ghosts I drag
the green fields of shaded rouge
The boyish hand of this olden maid
hints secrets, guarded by her face

For I'm the Gargoyle's work of art