Say, T.V.D., your pomes are grand
The maidens all sound classy
I wish you'd write about poor me -
A shy, neglected lassie.
Your dream girls all have lovely eyes
And throats of marble white
They're slimly straight, as You have said,
With hair like wings of night.
I'm six feet tall and have bow-legs -
(One cannot call them limbs)
When nature made them, she sure had
One of her awful whims.
So all I have to speak me well
Are eyes of greenish hue: -
But gee, - I wish you'd try to write
A poem for me too.