(For the co-chair of H n P Publishing House
with the greatest respect and undying love)
In a bony vat,
mix and stir with a wooden spoon,
just a dash of fat,
two cups of the Shine o' The Moon.
Now, a bag of thoughts, sad
and a pinch of regret,
then you quickly must add
some emotional debt,
then of guilt a small shot
icing sugar to dust,
now pre-heat the big pot
set the timer (you MUST),
simmer all in your head
then form words with your tongue,
know it all has been said
and the ballad's been sung.
For dessert (as a trial)
just a peck on both cheeks,
then you hope for the smile
you ain't seen in twelve weeks.
It was Doc Sigmund Freud
who gave up on the task,
he felt dumb and annoyed
tell me, why did I ask?
There is much to be said
even more to perceive,
in the depths of her head
just allow her to weave,
if the dice fall your way
you have reason to shout,
and you'll love her to say
Bestest, are you about?