Her big ass as she walked,
And her big brain as she talked,
Was not easy for any man to have balked,
Not away, but to her I walked.
What would I do to make her my main,
Watch her speak and walk the plain,
As I sing the melodies of Shania Twain,
Every moment, again and again?
Just like we nest birds with grains,
And eat broth despite the strains,
I had to get down the drain, to learn and train,
To make her my main.
The hunting spree began as a chase,
A marathon, running a case,
Not for silver or gold, but for the vase,
Of roses I sent just in case.
Days graduated to months and years,
Of good times, laughter and tears,
The marathon shifted its gears,
Slowing down due to its own fears.
As I ran I was pricked by spears;
Too sharp for my curtain shears;
Love marathon is a tough race to bear,
You gotta shift the gears.
Every good dancer leaves the stage,
When music plays and she is page,
And retreats to their cage,
And so with my age,
I finish the race — the wild goose chase.