To a Strack
Dear Strack, I’m stricken with your charms!
You have so many graceful arms;
Your eyes, deep-gazing into mine,
Are lovely-hued, and number nine.
So - could we possibly be one?
You’d have my heart – as you have none,
With pulsing tubes throughout, instead.
Head might say no; you lack a head:
Your brain’s distributed within
Your chest (that’s rich with frond and fin).
Embrace so tender shall enfold
Us- if your tendrils fair take hold!
Need such love be a hopeless task?
Am I presumptuous to ask-
Is that a raygun in your pouch,
Or are you pleased to see me?- Ouch!
[I've toyed with a zapper, phaser, laser and maser - so to speak - before settling again for my first choice of 'a raygun'.]
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