A mystery poem...

Years ago when Ruth and I were first married and eBay was in the realm of "somewhat popular," I bought a set of inexpensive vintage Haynes prints of Yellowstone National Park. They were very nice (four still hang framed in our living room) and arrived with their original envelope...

...on the back of which was written an old "poem" of sorts, in all capital letters, pencil on brown paper:

SMILE WITH ME
MERRILY
SING TO ME
DREAMILY
LOVE WITH ME THE COLOR OF HER EYES
AND ENJOY WITH ME THE SMELL OF HER THIGHS
AND GIVE TO HER THE SONGS OF A THOUSAND MINSTRELS
THE CHIRPING OF BIRDS
A SOFT BLUE LULLABY
SMILE WITH HER AND I'LL BE SMILING TOO

TASTE HER WARM LIPS
SMELL HER RADIANT HAIR
TOUCH HER SMOOTH WHITE SKIN
LISTEN TO HER WORDS +
       SHE'LL DANCE LIKE AN ENCHANTRESS
WITH HER HEAD IN A RAINBOW AND HER FEET
SURROUNDED WITH LILIES
     AMONGST

I'm no poet (though I'm pretty sure that lines like "smell her radiant hair" are... bad. Unless her hair was giving off those comic-strip "smell squiggles"?)

But, seriously, I wanted to capture this here (as I'm about to pop four more of the prints into frames I got free at Menards -- you new there had to be some sort of timely connection to this, didn't you?) to pay homage to some anonymous guy (we assume it was a guy?) who was moved to scratch out these thoughts a few decades ago.

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