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.