My second foray into verse.

An Ode to My Tiger

Some folks are not as lucky,
As am I, to have a ducky
Kinda guy whose name is Rob;
And I know why this is the case:

There's, in fact, only one man
Who can be (he really can!)
Good to me and Goblin Foo
When we see his handsome face.

He's creative; he is smart.
And he's got a giving heart.
But that's not the whole of it:
There's a lot more to this tale.

Rob's a funny kinda beau,
He's the best person I know.
But the rest of the statistics
Are more festive to regale:

He believes in UFOs,
And the lurking Jersey Devil.
And crop circles ... Robbie knows
That this stuff is on the level.
And that's why it's necessary
To wear tin foil on your head,
Although things could still get hairy
With the Goblin on the bed.

He must eat at precise hours
And believes in psychic powers,
But he never brings me flowers
Though I think of that at times.
By his music he's distracted;
And our time, it gets compacted
While the harmony's exacted
From the melodies and rhymes.

Still I love him quite a bit,
And that's all there is to it.
I've a ball when we're together,
Or when I chat with him online.

If I need him, he is there...
Yes, with crumbs on shirt and hair,
But this sums it all perfectly:
Though not perfect, he's divine.