There be none of Beauty’s daughters
who can wrestle like thee
And like depth-charges on the waters
is thy sweet voice to me.
Thy muscles are like tender alps
with strength beyond compare
Of all the Ladies of the Rings
there is none so fair.
Thy half-nelsons and thy head-locks
thy slammings to the floor
are bliss. But in bedsocks
and pyjamas I love thee even more.