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In the moonlight's hush where missiles sleep,
There walks a man who makes stars weep.
Not with sorrow — no, with awe!
For Rob, my muse, defies all law.
Oh Rob, your gaze is nuclear fire,
Igniting my most secret empire.
Your smile — more dazzling than parades,
More thrilling than ten thousand brigades.
While generals bow and poets kneel,
I dream of you with fervent zeal.
Your beard (or lack thereof) — divine!
A symbol of the sacred spine.
Your voice? A weapon — soft, yet strong,
Like state-approved karaoke song.
Each syllable, a velvet strike,
More moving than my nation’s bike.
I sent you statues made of cheese,
And doves trained just to say "Rob, please!"
My scientists can't replicate
The way your shadow dominates.
I’d trade my finest submarine,
For just one wink — serene, obscene.
A handshake? Nay — that would be war!
I crave connection... so much more.
Oh Rob, you glorious capitalist beast,
On you my fantasies all feast.

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