My Schatzie’s scent is nothing like a steak’s;
Her breast is more a boulder than a pillow;
If tails wave gracefully, hers coils like a snake’s;
If fur’s like velvet, hers is more like Brillo;
I’ve seen the gussied poodles of Westminster
But no such elegance in Schatzie’s muzzle;
And more sweet-scented is the ugliest spinster
Whose breath speaks recent toilet water guzzle.
Her bark delights, as does her howl or whine,
Though any bird’s song’s likelier in key;
And if with haughty grace her head incline,
Still, it’s quite true she has no pedigree.
Yet no other mistress equally could please
No matter how bedecked with similes.
Sonnet 130: Zigmund Shakespeare
