Her Perfume

I give you another one of my mediocre, quasi-Romantic poems, by way of equal time for nonhateful female characters. In my college days I actually set this poem to music. Don't ask for a copy of the music; you don't really want it.

Plain girl, she wears a plain perfume;
But when she feels it on her arm
And smells its dark and misty trace,
A glow emerges in her face;
Her eyes, lit flatteringly warm,
Forecast the comfort of the room.
She lifts her head from plain-girl gloom—
The scent is like a beauty-charm,
Tickling her wit as she has grace.
Her dress is free, her hair in place;
A lifting moves into her form.
Now, smiling, watch her beauty bloom.
Sweet girl, she wears a sweet perfume.