Spielberg? Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I had a dream, a strange and scaringly exotic dream.
On granite steps I sat, awaiting precious mail,
I'd worked on it, that new and crazy scheme,
It could, if God was game, perhaps, prevail.

Same time next year it is, was it the Jew,
who penned so many plays, he looks the part,
I'm working on the strategy to talk to you,
to sell you love and have it look like modern art.

I haven't got the guts my lovely, though I try,
if we could meet each year, I'd pay the devil thrice,
to put my fingers on your freshly shaven thigh
I'd climb the Alps and get you ANY Edelweiss.