Moist they become, thinking of you;
Joyful they are, looking at you.
Living in your thoughts;
Driven by your charts.
Gazing through the slits;
They wonder the blitz.
Against the wind, they hold;
Agony yet, fail to be bold.
Unkind they act, never care for the moisture;
Drains out the mist, care for her gesture.
Gloomy eyes they are,
Dreamy Eyes they are. . . .