(About a 1 minute read)

Nevin worked up his courage for weeks,
Until the fated night came when his yearning hopes of love
Weighed a ton more than his fears of rejection
And so he found the guts to beg Birdie
For her wing in an unholy marriage
Between a free bird and a Scottish engineer.

Too shy to look Birdie in her eyes,
Nevin stuck his gaze firm on her glass of whiskey
With the instincts of a Scotsman for a fine single malt,
Then began with his well-rehearsed lines
Which never came out,
For love suddenly made his tongue that night
Spill words sweet as a poem of Robert Burns’.

Nevin found such words as no engineer commonly finds,
Save perhaps when admiring an efficiency report:
Words fit to match the fires in Birdie’s free heart,
Words fit to turn her knees to soup,
Words fit to tingle her from toe to neck,
Words true to Nevin’s love.