Oh, Mortals Are Filthy

Oh, mortals are filthy.
I would not be on your path.
I would soar, a fairy sprite
among the trees.
I would never taste the juice
of your forbidden fruit,
lest I should hunger more,
and fall
to you.
Your eyes, they beckoned in,
they were my lovers.
Your hair,
it had the grace
to claim a saint.
Your lips, they posed
a threat to my poor heart.
To touch them once
would wish fulfill a dream.
I ached for you, and
struggled deep within
to choose between your beauty
and my sins.
I chose a path not often
left neglected.
I succumbed to you,
and left my crown
in heaven.