Too oft, i've considered Her fundament;
Hypnotised by its beauteous swing.
Who into raptures would not be sent
By so rare, pert and sublime a thing?
i dream of Her decorous decolletage
And of the prize that it doth promise.
My ardour i can no way camouflage
When i think to there place a gentle kiss.
There can be nothing with a finer curve
Nor anything else that man could invent.
E'en could i sculpt i wouldn't have the nerve
To try such a rare form to represent.
To me She's all; water, food and oxygen
my fair Maid, callimammapygean.