Fleur Delacour is a tiny parcel,
wrapped in shiny paper,
and filled with magical things.

Fleur Delacour,
a beautiful butterfly,
soaring through an endless blue sky.

Fleur Delacour is a vein of gold,
buried deep beneath the waters of a swift river.

Fleur Delacour sees nothing
but a blank, pretty face;
because that is all anyone else sees.

Fleur Delacour is a sparkling diamond.
Fleur Delacour is a hollow thing.

Fleur Delacour is rare wine,
to be savored by a tasteful palate,
and drunken slowly and with want.

Mostly, Fleur Delacour is a trinket,
toyed with and admired,
but never really loved,
for Fleur Delacour is another pretty face,
much to her dismay.