I cannot explain the image of which
my eyes have not yet seen,
A woman that bears no name to me,
But awaits me in my dream.
I wish I could say her eyes were sky blue,
green, brown, or even grey,
But her hair colour too seems to change
every night to my dismay.
Twenty three years later she's still of age,
A perfect wife for me,
But the years go on, and so do I,
The less likely she will be.
Who is this woman, this chameleon?
Were we meant to be?
Is this some sort of practical joke?
A false hope of reality?
Even so, when she speaks: It's not my ears,
But my heart, nameless one,
That carries your tune - my one true love,
my soulmate, my dream chameleon.