I'd like to thank Reneé O'Connor for her inspiration and Edgar Allan Poe for the meter
For those who need a start, it's read to the rhythm of "The Raven."
T'was a day I don't remember, maybe sometime round September,
I awakened to the vision of the one I now adore.
Lively and a bit excited, in a state most unrequited,
I was watching most delighted a young actress, five foot four.
"Gabby dances nicely," thought I, as she pranced across the floor,
"There is no one I like more."
Soft upon the ground she treaded, calm and careful as she headed
Toward the warrior atop that dreaded horse of gold she must deplore.
While the bard and warrior chatted, they made way along the matted,
leaf blown trail and dirt strewn passage that served as the forest floor.
For the way is rife with brigands, evil men and bully hordes -
Warlord fiends and gods galore.
Still our goddess never faltered, standing poised with stick she halted,
in a voice real loud I shouted, my frustration, "Give me more!"
Through bad commercials I had waited, 'til she showed up I felt jaded,
patiently I sat and waited, then they showed the scene once more.
Soon a heap of bodies piled up, showing little blood or gore -
From girl with stick and not much more.
"Whack 'em more!" I found I cried out, as they all ran to their hideout,
never will they talk or fight out much more else they feel the sores,
now they've found out in this party a girl whose stick will make them sorry,
to attack some innocent quarry, then I saw her smile once more.
The grin she flashed so lit her face as if from tale of lost folklore -
My heart then melted on the floor.
Who can be this lovely vision who caught my heart inside a prison,
that I made my one true mission, to search the credits quickly for.
Her name was not there at the ending, damn the wounding and the rending,
that I felt inside me pending - feeling lost and insecure.
Give my heart and mind release and lighten stress from out my core -
Let them say her name once more!
Soon finding what I couldn't get, the precious goal for which I'd set,
she was out there on the Net, not just her name but stock and store!
Pictures flooded past my sight, some in day and some at night,
and I found to my delight, her charm shines through it all the more.
I felt the need to share with others like I'd never felt before -
This young one I so adore.
But I found out in this fashion that she can so fuel a passion,
for her beauty can come crashing down on me like none before.
So innocent her looks reveal a girl next door with much appeal
and favorite color such as teal and eyes of green not to ignore.
Her hair has gone from blonde to red and back again to blonde once more -
Enhancing her exterior.
I've seen her in all kinds of dress, sometimes clean and some a mess,
walking about as to impress, or fighting some unscrupulous war.
Sometimes in the scenes she's crying, others she is nearly dying,
or she needs a pan for frying some fresh fish or wild boar.
Unaware while hot tub soaking; soap lodged 'neath her posterior -
I have to love this troubadour.
Troubadour is not quite right, it infers to song and though she might
sing a bit she prefers to write her tales in rhyme or metaphor.
Her scrolls they tell of deeds astounding, tales of love make hearts go pounding,
Tears we weep pull heart strings sounding like hurricane or cyclone's roar -
Even through the sounds of fury or gentle thoughts of soft amour -
Her lilting voice above doth soar.
In the times she isn't speaking of boats capsized or merely leaking,
She has spent some time a reeking of foot rot from some awful spore.
The drooling I can take alright, and crud that creeps her skin at night
Plus vorpal rabbits intent to fight and leave her weak, a little sore.
Administer to her we must! So quickly off you to the store -
And medicines please do outpour!
I thought that I had seen the ending of the rift that sent me bending
over backwards 'cause they're sending messages not seen before.
Emotional though they might be, it's more so now that I can see
the writers just won't let them be a trio living myth and lore.
The Three of Hearts pure and justly, warrior, bard, and just one more -
The last has legs that number four.
Of all the pictures I've collected and the scenes the screen's detected,
looking back and once reflected upon I'd have to say, a horse.
But Argo did not begin a friend, she might have thought of Gabby's end,
but then she grew not to offend but looked on as a counselor.
Yes Gabby took in Xena's absence the reins and friendship of the horse -
A friend to last through love and war.
Of all the changes we have suffered, the drastic ones have left me flustered,
can they not leave her alone? Gab has grown with grace and more.
They cut her hair and change her dress, but through it all I must confess
as mystic guru I like her less. Make her as she was before.
The long hair and the classic smile and abs that make my own feel sore -
That distinctive look please do restore.
In my room all grim and ghastly, light is shed there first and lastly,
for her image flutters past me all along the corridor.
Eight by tens and twice that size now fill my walls with no surprise
she makes it easy on the eyes to dwell with other grim decor.
Thus the portraits of young lady, plain or some with signature -
Find place in my home evermore.
With heartfelt voice I sing the praises of Reneé and all her phases.
The word I spread I hope it blazes and I'll try to underscore
what I mean and all my feelings as I undergo the dealings
of bringing you all my revealings of the one I so adore.
I thank her for the inspiration and love she highlights in my core -
Reneé, I couldn't ask for more.
- David L. Papp