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. 

         Cassius.