An Ode to Sven Erik.....

If a face could launch a thousand ships,
then slaye the yonder door.
The door of creativity, divinity; of yore.

Of yesteryear; the pages cry,
they yeild their bursting song,
the decades that beheld them well,
were mearly rights of wrong.

You are the sheild of Benevere-
The gold of Alcazan,
The mighty wind of Timbuktu,
The tin that carries Spam.

The pen that writes will never shake,
from his lamented rest,
In answer to thine question,
You look groovy in a vest.