On Vulcan, there are silver birds
Which, being Vulcan, don't lay turds
Above the heads of those below
They wait until it's clear, then go.

Vulcans are the very same,
They tell no lies, they play no games,
On Vulcan, honesty is the key;
On Vulcan I would like to be.

And I'd glady live under a bright red sky
And scorching sun--I wouldn't cry,
I'd wear sunblock and a floppy hat;
On Vulcan, you're careful of things like that.

I'd miss pig-meat, and burgers too,
And chicken, fried fish, rabbit stew,
And a diet of veggies might give me the runs;
Healthcare on Vulcan is second-to-none.

In fact, everything there is much better than here,
Except that Pon Farr thing--that's a bit queer,
But who needs sex in a perfect land?
And even on Vulcan, I'd still have my hand.

But you could say I'm bending the truth here, I guess--
'On *a* Vulcan' is more what I'm aiming for, yes?
There's only one Vulcan, for whom I'd go amok--
You guessed it, Dear Reader--I'm speaking of Spock.

Like the other Amanda, who married his father,
To move millions of light-years, I'd find it no bother,
And on top of Vulcan I'd happily be,
With a Vulcan occasionally on top of me.

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Author guidance for This poem

Because I can't follow MY OWN guidance--love poems, mature or otherwise, to or about fictional characters :) That's it, there's the revised guidance :)

updated Oct 12 '10 by AmandaQuirky