[Jager]

I would like to add this poem to this thread; I think it belongs here. I wrote this for JD cutting some cheese with his “Bird” a few months ago on another thread.



My birds' eyes are like the setting sun,
In my yellow nine-eight-six she’s plenteous fun;

Cabernet wine is far redder than her lips' red,
If hairs be silk, golden silk grows on her head;

I have smelled countless roses, red and white,
Her perfumes provide similar delight;

But no such roses I sense near her cheeks,
For some reason my bird suddenly reeks!

I love to hear her speak, soft evening breeze,
But hark; I believe she just cut the cheese;

That nightcap had a far more pleasing sound,
My bird squawked, time to hit the ground;

A wine bouquet meant to breathe, tis not,
My once attractive bird, now not quite as hot;

And yet, by heaven, in my Boxster uptown,
Swiftly push the button, relief, convertible top down.