Miss Impossible Poets of the Fall

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She can see about four satellites
Every minute of the hour
And find a four leaf clover
Where you never saw a flower
She's habitually paradoxical a parallel perpendicular
Barefoot in nightgowns
That's how she dances in the rain
Sundown to sundown
Like she was washing way her pain
As she is beautiful, she's unpredictable
Damned irresistible, is it plausible to hate her
She is my common sense, revels on decadence
But what's the difference, it's impossible to bait her
She can really be a handful
Like the brownies that she bakes you
It can be a tad hysterical
But never quite the breakthrough
She's some kind of an epitome
The sea of intranquility
In flimsy nightgowns
Barefoot she dances in the rain
Sundown to sundown
Like she was washing way her pain