A filthy lady standing
Amidst the rabble waving
A tattered kerchief found
Beneath the dusty hooves
Stamping in the muddy lane
Brave knight riding
Head up and proud
His tall horse prancing
Delighted with the attention
But on the girl his eyes remain
He gazes at the woman and her kerchief
Deep beneath the dirt he finds her beauty
Full he sees her, and not so thin
Clean he sees her, with milky skin
And takes from her hand the muddy, tattered rag
His chosen pennant, his colors, and the token
Of his chosen one, who shall be his lady
And he her champion