There’s no way to measure
The relative pleasure
Of two hearts aflutter.

What’s good for the boy’ll
Be good for the goil,
A hot knife through butter.

They’ll tickle their parents
With talk of foreswearance
Until they st-stutter.

No matter how careful
They are, they’ll be prayerful
Whenever they putter.

[First published in Light: A Quarterly of Light Verse, Fall/Winter 2007]