The grumble king shook, raked the snow red through his beard
and shifted weight to mutter, “It is as I feared.”
He quarried callused knuckles, knocking at her door
and thinking if he’d knocked there once, he’d knocked two score.
His cloak he gathered tight, chainmail against his girth.
“Oh, do come on, my dear, here’s not so Middle-Earth!”
The dwarves, you know, are the most impatient of folk
and moreso when they travel out of land of Tolk’.
The faintly heard sounds of movement hurried within
did ease that grim scowl back to a stony grin.
The door swung open wide and out the door she came,
joyous elfin beauty, fit for King, What’s his name?
Sun baked and winter crisped air of spring snow sprinkled
sang glories on her face, her eyes with wisdom twinkled.
“What took so long, my dear, my silly uncouthed gnome?
I’ve waited months for thee, Calgary streets to roam.”
He chuckled and grinned, his face all in blush,
took her arm, skipping, singing, loud as thrush.