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Friday, May 22, 2015

You're the Top 2011

A jolly lyric, a panegyric
to praise one of Boston's best,
but I should be cautious lest
she be distressed or unimpressed:
I'm far too wordy, it's rather nerdy,
the length to which I have gone;
you'll think me mental, but please be gentle
as I ramble and babble on!

You're the top, you're a mackerel holy,
you're a stop by the Bruins goalie:
you're a beauty queen, you're the leafy green of Spring;
you're a live third rail, and you never fail
to make me sing!
You're a dream, and you drive me loco,
you're the steam from a cup of cocoa --
I'm a reckless guy just arrested by a cop:
Signorina, I'm the bottom. You're the top!

You're as fine as a gin martini,
you're a line penned by Seamus Heaney --
you're a candle-wick, you're a Bergman flick at Cannes:
you're a silver platter, a Pollock splatter,
you're tryptophan!
You're so sweet, you're a comic hero --
you're a treat, but I'm close to zero.
I'm a bloke benighted, a withered blighted crop:
I'm a dweller of the cellar -- you're the top!

You're the top, you're Michelle Obama;
you're the top, you're the Dalai Lama:
you're a red balloon, you're a '60s tune on "Glee" --
you're a jazzy jitney, you're a song by Whitney,
you're a liturgy!
You're a blast from an angel's bugle,
you're as fast as a search by Google!
I'm a dying ember, a cold November gray --
but you're funny, you're the sunny month of May!

You're a bird, you're an ode by Horace --
you're a word in Roget's Thesaurus!
you're a silken glove, a turtle-dove, it's true!
You're the rose of Sharon, you're the voice of Karen
singing "Close to You"!
You're a drape, you're a blind Venetian;
you're the shape of an urn that's Grecian!
I'm a bard forlorn, a Samson shorn of hair:
but you're sterling, you're a girl beyond compare!

You're the top of a fireman's ladder.
You're the top! No one makes me gladder.
You're the subtle charm of a country farm in Maine.
You're a sparkling soda, you're the ears of Yoda,
you're a candy cane!
You're a doll -- oh, you're just like heaven!
you're so tall (almost five-eleven) ...
I'm a case of gout, a doltish lout, a pest!
but if, honey, I'm annoying, you're the best.

You're the top, you're a golden trinket;
you're the top, just like Smith & Pinkett:
you're the manner mild of a soulful child of grace;
to be diplomatic, I get quite ecstatic
when I see your face!
You're the lurch of a locomotive,
you're a church with a candle votive:
I'm as crazed as heck, a crashing wreck. I'm done!
You're terrific, beatific, you're the one!

You're so fab! You're McCartney's Lennon.
You're not drab: you're the bluest denim.
You're Seattle grunge, you're a daring bungee jump --
you're a hedge with brambles, an egg that scrambles!
I am Forrest Gump.
You’re a peach, and you make me feel good;
you're a speech by the late John Gielgud:
you’re a cherished chum, you're the total sum -- a friend!
And this litany I’ve written now must end.

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