
Unto the end, the perfect blend
of fantasy and sadness.
Is Harold Crick a piece of fic,
or suffering from madness?
Like Crick, the slob, who quits his job
to shake things up a bit,
I, too, am rife with love for life.
It’s corny, I’ll admit.
But I insist, what tops the list
of merits overall?
I have to gush; I have a crush
on Maggie Gyllenhaal.