Men of La Mancha
extracted from a madman’s mind,
who dares to magic her back to this world?
Who could want what with her now?
She exists nowhere.
Can you conjure her up from mists?
Once she was Echo: her voice
dependent on a mad rogue’s tongue.
Moonlight through the glade.
White foam atop the sea.
Betrayal of every dream
once she is found.
For he who creeps into her bed
finds plain Aldonza there.
The enticing breasts that made him drool
are shrunken dugs when seen up close.
Her horse is but a donkey
and she herself is but a dream
woven from the fabric of another’s whim.
Allow Dulcinea her well-earned rest.
Take care lest she roll over and start to snore:
Dulcinea turned Aldonza ever more.