beautiful, my beautiful, that standeth proudly by,
chromium plated elegance enhances every eye.
feel you pressed against my breast, or better still I trow
know how much your magic touch can cool my fevered brow.
years my hand has fed you with the films that you require,
reverently pressed the knob to make your shutter fire
to replace you in your case I lovingly prepare
you remain exempt from strain till next you take the air.
despite my constant heed, how strangely it befalls
pictures seldom seem to reach the Exhibition walls.
canít compare (it seems unfair) with Blankís, through his old thing
kept in shape by sellotape and fortified with string.
beautiful, my beautiful, I wonder can it be
cameras donít count as much as eyes that really see,
when we try, both Blank and I, true pictures to create
he the flair the skill, the care, I but the chromium plate?