In halls where the ivy has woven its thread,
With books in her arms and a mind full of red,
there walks Lady Monica, bold as can be,
a scholar of history, setting hearts free.
Her eyes, like the twilight, are steady and wise,
they capture the past in their flickering guise.
A little bit of Monica, sharp as a blade,
She conquers the ages where legends are made!
With notes in her fingers and song in her chest,
Erica hums as she studies her best.
She dances through Woodcrest with effortless grace;
a melody drifts with every step that she takes.
Her hair flows like starlight in shimmering waves,
her voice is the echo the ocean still craves.
A little bit of Erica, sweet as her tune,
a rhythm of life when the night meets the moon!
Beneath the old arches, in lecture halls wide,
there sits lovely Rita, her passion, her guide.
She paints with her laughter, she sketches with light,
her canvases shimmer like stars in the night.
Her spirit is fire, her wit quick and keen,
The soul of an artist, in crimson and green.
A little bit of Rita—oh, let it be known,
her colors so bright turn my gaze into stone!
Through circuits and numbers, through logic and code,
Tina’s bright mind is the path that I strode.
Her thoughts build like bridges; they spark and ignite,
a world made of wonders, electric and bright.
Her goggles reflect all the stars in her view,
a dreamer in digits, yet warm-hearted too.
A little bit of Tina, her brilliance shines through,
as light in the storm when the skies turn to blue!
The ocean it calls her, the sand in her hair,
Sandra walks laughing, with sun in her stare.
Her heart is the summer, the salt on the breeze;
she dances like waves, and she sings like the seas.
Her freckles are constellations unnamed,
a daughter of Neptune, untethered, untamed.
A little bit of Sandra, wild and divine,
the warmth of the day and the taste of the brine!
The lanterns are flickering, the clock’s hands embrace,
and Mary still whispers of time lost in space.
Philosophy’s lover, her words weave like lace,
a poet, a thinker, a night’s long embrace.
Her laughter is whiskey, both burning and sweet,
a woman of stardust, both subtle and fleet.
A little bit of Mary, with books and her wine,
she lingers in verses, my heart’s favorite line!
She walks with conviction, she speaks with a spark,
Jessica’s voice is the flame in the dark.
The law is her passion, her purpose, her creed,
a firebrand of justice, determined to lead.
Her eyes flash like thunder, her mind like the tide;
there’s nowhere to hide from the strength in her stride.
A little bit of Jessica—fearless and grand,
the woman whose touch is the weight of command!
Oh, Woodcrest’s bright daughters, so brilliant and true,
with eyes of all colors, with minds ever new.
The sun paints your laughter; the wind lifts your grace;
the halls hum your footsteps; the stars trace your place.
Roses are crimson, the violets are deep,
and thinking of you all never lets my heart sleep.
A little bit of you makes me ponder and plan,
So tell me, dear Woodcrest, could I be your man?