The Feet of My Love

by Unknown of Amphipolis

The feet of the bard they have touched me,

and I have been changed, made to see.

That her feet are like little ice cubies,

when they touch in the winter my boobies.

Now they move as she speaks in her tales.

Look like a couple beached whales,

and make me think, "Oh, by the gods,

they smell like a pair of dead cods."

She leads me to exasperation,

just wishing she knew sanitation.

For I've got a headache from her feet,

'cause they smell like a bog of fresh peat.

And then when she sleeps by the fire,

her feet without boots do conspire,

to make me gasp and breathe soft,

wish my oxygen came from aloft.

Oh, dear Gabrielle, I DO love you,

tho your feet should be on some that moo,

I would kiss and caress your whole being,

Just please keep your feet from my seeing.

For I fear you might step on my toes,

smash them like I smash our foes.

Your soul mate I am, but look here,

I need my poor toes I do fear.

But if I should tell you that, love,

You'd kick me and give me a shove.

For your feelings might get hurt tonight,

So I'll shut up and not start that fight.

So your hands I will look at instead,

in leu of your feet rough and red,

and another foul night I'll survive,

as I count my sweet luck I'm alive.

You speak, say "Good morning," and smile,

and your feet 'neath the blankets so vile,

go back to your boots, gods be glad,

and I'll finally start breathing a tad.

Perhaps tonight camping I'll speak,

Have those things been washed yet this week?

but for now I'm content just to bide,

and thank the gods I get to ride!

Translated by Will the Semi Sod © Oct 2001