There once was an ace that walked at a pace
that no man— woman— or face could keep that pace
and had she not misplaced her ace then to face
loss of a race to erase the body of clothing with grace
and not the tact of haste, 'but I am to remain chaste'
she states. I hear, but while rounding second base,
'just a small taste' and a letter with SASE in place

she resembled in body a vase and in clothes a case
made of very fine lace hace calour chica? to trace
her verity curves of vase and she might choose to brace
her small can of mace kept on her bedside place, meant
I was to receive the treatment, but not yet a waste
in time to pray for her own brand of short malaise
in time to my production of ace— ace— ace— king face

---

from "Hellen on Wheels: A Melodrama of Rhyme and Reason"