What’s in a name?

The moon was full and bright and the summer
air, warm and still when the poet picked up his lute and sang this song of boundless love to the flaxen haired, fair maiden by his side;

Oh Marion, art thou
like a pretty twin of June?
Oh Marion, art thou
like a mirror for the moon?
Oh Marion, art thou
an echo of the Siren’s song?
Oh, Marion art thou
the true likeness of perfection?
No, Marion; none of these describes you true
for, Marion, no beauty can compare to you.

Then, sweetly smiling, his love did gaze admiringly into his eyes and, picking up his lute in her soft, gentle hands did bring it crashing down upon his foppish head.

“Who is this Marion?”, she asked, scowling horribly, “My name is Katy”.