There is abroad in England, A thing beyond compare. Of this I write a poem, Which sadly lacks in flair. This marvel of the soveriegn isles, Is the jessiness of Jess. I write this poem for her, As she doesn't have the song, Promised by her boyfriend, And put off for far too long. For art is easily inspired, By the jessiness of Jess. The jessiness is magic, Of the old, forgotten sort. It comes when least expected, And at times of great import. For mystic, fabulous and grand, Is the jessiness of Jess. I feel now the ending, As the time is drawing near, When inspiration's ended, And I have but one idea. For my intellect's been drained to fuel, The jessiness of Jess.