gl ^altbarp Eomamce
Down the duet of Stenson came
A nifty saprogenic dame,
Singing as she paddled through,
In her ptyalin canoe.
On the second molar tooth
Sat a zygomatic youth,
Fishing with enamel rod
On the soft and green-stained sod.
Same old story often told,
This romantic microbe bold,
Favored by the law of chance,
Caught the bashful maiden's glance.
And in bold bacillian style,
Stold a microscopic smile,
And beguiled this little spore
To spoon upon the squamous shore.
Thence they wandered 'cross the ridge,
And loitered by the misfit bridge,
There he told her tales of might,
How he slew a leucocyte,
Swore by Dolar it was he,
Who put the dent in dentistry.
Other things he told her too,
Facts that Miller never knew.
Tales like these are bound to turn
The head and heart of any germ,
So they wed and settled down,
On that second molar crown,
And he worked with might and will.
On his lactic acid still,
Tunnelled, burrowed, slaved, and spun
In his pre-carious vo-ca-tion.
And then when life seemed most serene,
Comes the villian upon the screen,
Dapper mite he calls to see her,
The ill-famed duke of pyorrhea.
Positive in his chemotaxis,
Unto love his ardor waxes,
But, in scorn she says him no
And in wrath she bids him go.