A poem for and about my wife. A love poem, that is.
|“Lion cubs, lion cubs,|
You are too young to visit pubs,
You don’t play a piano, nor blow a horn,
So what do you like?” “We like to learn!”
“Oh! I’m guessing with all my might...
What do you learn?” “We learn to bite!
We mean no scoffing and mean no slighting,
But, say, how can we hunt without biting?”
“Lion cubs, I too can tell
That those who don’t bite don’t hunt very well.
But, I suppose, you have more in store
For me to consider?” “Yeah! We learn to roar!
Because we find extremely boring
Any hunt which goes without roaring”.
“Being not inclined to rave,
I tell you the truth, lion cubs, you’re brave!
And who are your relatives? Cats and lynxes?”
“And girls as well, ’cause we are sphinxes!”
“If you are sphinxes, so let me, please,
Squeeze you because girls are good to squeeze”.
“Of course, you may, we are inviting,
If you don’t mind our roaring and biting”.