But soft! What light from yonder kitchen breaks?
It is the ‘fridge, and all my dreams are won!
Arise, black hound, devour the cheesy feast,
And from your hunger pangs now seek relief.
Those sausages, more near at hand than she,
By her hand made, whilst thou wast envious,
Eat now, unless thou shoulst be sick and green,
The guilt? Thou must but bear it. Cast it off.
It is my two-legs! Uh oh, I’m undone!
O that she had not come!
She looks, yet she says nothing. What’s all that?
Her eye speaks volumes; I will run for it!
I cannot hide…she knows where she must seek.
I wish myself with all the stars of heaven!
With puppy gaze I do entreat her eyes…
They twinkle in response despite her frown…
What if I hold her eyes, and keep her here?
The twitching of her cheek belies her ire
As laughter doth her tears; her eyes to heaven
Raised in mock despair, they gleam so bright
That I could sing and think I’ll be alright.
See now I lay my cheek upon her hand,
And feel nothing but love within that hand,
In spite of all my cheek!
With abject apologies to Shakespeare…
(At least this makes a change from her fascination with Macbeth…)