I once met a man with a penchent for walking
on ceilings with feelings outpouring while talking.
I asked him the way to the Moon, he replied -
If I could he would love me to find him a bride.
"On the Moon?" I asked, not thing Women were there.
"But of course, it's the source of the rarest of rare."
"But surely." Said I. "That's a long way to go.
There must, I do trust be somewhere nearer you know
with plenty of ladies that would make wonderful matches
with no added baggage or unexpected catches?"
"Normal, you mean?" He said with a grin.
"I'm afraid I can't trade on that most important thing.
Now flit." Said the man. "I have musing to do
on how meanings of dreaming make feelings come true."
So I left, and for ages considered his request,
but surely it's purely speculation at best.
And what was that thing that he would not trade.
That thing from within that enraptured him made.
And I looked at the Moon, and I'm sure it looked back.
And my gaze went dazed as I realised the fact.
That for a man on the ceiling, imagination in flight,
how can formally normal ever possibly be right.
And so looking for this Woman, to one rule I've adhered:
That I trust that she must be impossible...
... and weird.