I saw her first in autumn, within the valley shade—

An image almost fantasy, a fairy figurine.

Her hair a yellow waterfall, an angel’s bright cascade

To match the turning poplar leaves—sweet Abigail in green.

An emerald sea, her gingham gown, and trimmed in whitest lace

About the neck and cuffs and hem, and scarlet thread between. 

I watched her step from shade to sun; I saw the flowing grace

Of youth unchained in verdant bliss—sweet Abigail in green.

The meadow grass at twilight, arrayed in quiet shame

With dewdrops much like fairy tears, and softness velveteen,

For greener was the gingham gown, and softer it became

As daylight died upon the field of Abigail in green. 

Too many sunlit days have crept from where I was before—

Too many trials of time and age and troubles unforeseen.

Some dreams I had and kept for years are gone forevermore,

Except the one that still abides—sweet Abigail in green.