Blason for David Avocado Wolfe
Darling's hair is the colour of cold farm sludge
His eyes compare somewhat to treacle fudge
In summer, his skin takes an orange hue
His hair becomes red, as if fire has ensued
His feet are so shapely, as if made of marble
His words are contrived as to not be a garble
Who could fail to adore my sweet as he stands
Ladies fall to worship in small giggling bands
T'would be rude to ignore any eloquent speeches
I am quite sure he smells of sweet ripened peaches