Marie of Marais, Roses they say

Marie of Marais
Found any which way
To sew through the hem
And spot on the buttons.

For a dress at the ball
Was the turn to her fall
Leaves her no beauty
In the envy of scorn.

Balanced them both
With a third more to count
She knew less than plenty
When there wasn't a doubt.

Her type was too shrewd
To fire her feud
Jealous upheaval
In the gait of her whim.

Maths in the head
A sum of the heart
Came none for her morrow
But ever did start.

Marie of Marais
Came off that way
Wind in her dress
Her hair such a mess.

With a twirl of her curl
And a twist of his tail
Made her promise to keep
His bye gone betrayal.

Marie of Marais
Better off than, say
A wife of a suit
Or a beauty of the day.