“It has been a year or more, has it not, my dove?”
She replied, “It has been ten, my one, my love.”
“Ah, that might explain,” he continued,
“Why your skin is taught and sinewed.”
“And you, my dear, have a terrific girth,
If I were to measure it, ‘twould be the size of Earth!”
“Ah darling, your affection to my ears delight!”
(Of course he could not hear a mite).
“And furthermore, may I add,” he said,
“Your nose is only surpassed by your head.”
“Oh dear that must be why I can tell,
You have a most peculiar smell.”
“Oh, you endear me to your thoughts!
If only I could stand the sight of you we ought–”
“Wait!” said she, “what’s that I hear?
It must be the sickle of death comes near!”
“Well, my darling, I hear truly naught,
Therefore don’t you think we ought–”
“My, my! ” she exclaimed, “Is it so late?”
I’m afraid I have another date!”
“Oh my dear, you are too kind,
Were I not only deaf but also blind–”
“I really must away.” she said
(Her nose was sensing an essence of dread).
“Well, I do bid to you a good day.”
(He was certain her nose would guide the way).
“It has truly been a wondrous delight!”
(She wondered if she might sleep that night).
And so ended the intended affair,
As an acrid aroma filled the air.