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Fair verses for that dazzling bean of mine
I dedicate to you, its faithful bawd.
For never in your presence do I pine
To be by that great nectar newly shod—
Like a polo pony that’s dropped a shoe,
Without caffine I find myself undone.
In my scholastic toil it is the glue:
And you, dear Sam, are that glue’s plastic gun.
Will not you operate the ‘Three for All,’
Selecting filters with your patent skill?
Can you not rise up from your tight coiled ball
And fix the drink that so fixes my will?
And yet in the kitchen I have just found
The mixture made: my face planted in ground.
Yeah. You love that last pun. I know you do.
I dedicate to you, its faithful bawd.
For never in your presence do I pine
To be by that great nectar newly shod—
Like a polo pony that’s dropped a shoe,
Without caffine I find myself undone.
In my scholastic toil it is the glue:
And you, dear Sam, are that glue’s plastic gun.
Will not you operate the ‘Three for All,’
Selecting filters with your patent skill?
Can you not rise up from your tight coiled ball
And fix the drink that so fixes my will?
And yet in the kitchen I have just found
The mixture made: my face planted in ground.
Yeah. You love that last pun. I know you do.
