Rhymes or Reason

As I had some time on my hands this evening I thought I'd have a go at a sonnet. According to Stephen Fry in his book "The Ode Less Travelled" no-one can really call themselves a poet unless they've produced a sonnet or two. So in the slightly adapted immortal words of Fagin, "I've got to schtick a sonnet or two, ooh, I've got to schtick a sonnet or twooo!"

However, apparently what I've written is a hybrid between a Petrarchan sonnet and a Shakespearean sonnet. It seems the Petrarchan sonnet has a rhyming scheme in the 'Octave' (first 8 lines) of ABBA-ABBA, then for the 'Sestet' (last 6 lines) of CDECDE. But mine has a rhyming scheme of ABBA-CDDC for the Octave, then EFEFGG for the Sestet. Which is closer to the Shakespearean form that rhymes as ABAB- CDCD for the Octave, and EFEFGG for the Sestet.

So there! Take that oh non-believers out there, who thought I was nothing more than a Rhymin' Simon. See? I can produce the real stuff when I need to!

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Got a sonnet under my bonnet!

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Of all the lovely things that I could do
and all the pleasing things I'd like to say
I'd smile and say them to you anyway
and I'd like to do them all in time with you
the only place I really want to be
and if you're here I truly must admit
I know that my whole life would be complete
if I could make you want to stay with me;

the trouble is that you are never here
you're many miles away from where I'm sitting
and though I'm thinking of you now my dear
for you in your four walls there's no beginning
no start to our romance, our love affair
instead I'll just sit here and shed a tear

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So you see, I'm a poet, but I didn't know it, till just now that is.

 

Sorry I am missing lately.
I am catching up. Xxx

 

It's getting late again, and I'm getting bum ache from sitting here at the PC and staring at these two screens. It's also getting harder and harder to think of things to write about, and today's ode is about that very subject.

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Poeting's hard

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If I could only learn to find how poetry occurs
perhaps I'd soon be rhyming like a poet
but until then I guess for me it's totally absurd
to think that I'll be good enough to show it

so on I blunder smashing words like finely made bone china
into such a vast and shapeless heap
and though I try to write some odes and make them ever finer
I don't think that they're good enough to keep

Instead I'll read the book I've bought that tells how rhyming's done
and hope I'll find some inspiration there
coz right now all I'm getting is an aching back and bum
and that's not much to write about and share

another day draws to a close the clock keeps ticking onward
I'm getting brain ache from all the hard graft
of trying to find things to write, it should be quite straightforward
but somehow all my rhymes just seem so daft

I can't find out how to include such poetic words as "Heav'n"
or other words that drop a vowel or two
all I can think to rhyme with it is something like "North Devon"
but that's a place I've almost never been to

although I'm from the West myself I didn't travel much
until I moved away from home that is
so I was now a long way east of Mendip Hills and such
and wasn't keen to go except on business

I did once go to Exmoor though, where I had a job to do
but that was over in three days or less
and though I thought of touring I was really passing through
so I never did get suitably impressed

as soon as it was over I headed out back East
back to my home and family just here
and soon forgot the windswept hills as well if I am honest
I gave them up for comfort and a beer

but now I'm sat here wondering and feeling quite bereft
of what to write to end this ode of mine
except for me to say that there is simply nothing left
for me to do but end it on a rhyme

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See ya!

 

Well, I looked outside just now and there was a crescent moon hanging by invisible threads on its back high in the sky. So I thought I'd write about it.

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Crescent Moon

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Oh, crescent moon so wild and free
pray tell what can I make of thee?
a silver line across the darkened sky
curved like a horn, ballooned yet pointed
what do we see, where can you be?

you hide your essence in the shadow
yet show your quarter long and narrow
as though in picture's lines negated
with body dark and shadow lit

many a dream hangs by your light
romantic trysts by pale moonlight
yet hunters use you for their gain
and bombers fly through war insane
to find their targets to destroy

does it make you weep to think
that by your light so many've perished
or that romantic lovers lie
and make sweet love while you stand by
look down and smile from up above
with luminescence for to see
the laughing sparkle in a lover's eye

we feel blessed when in the dark
you shine your silver light so stark
yet from our enemies dark hides us
while to our homes you gently guide us
now to bed to dream some more
so till tomorrow then, amore!

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Saturday lie in tomorrow, so plenty of time to dream tonight!

 

Late again, but it's Saturday, so I'm allowed to stay up late. That's my excuse anyway. Meanwhile here's a poem that uses lots of rhymes throughout.

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Sound bites!

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Another day another way
to know that I've created
I sit and ponder then I wonder
is that what I intended

it takes a while for me to smile
it's rather complicated
but given time I'll find the rhyme
that fits, it's what I needed

the words are there, they're everywhere
and yet I get frustrated
and though I try I wonder why
I feel that I've exceeded
my brain's word count, I can't work out
it seems to have receded
until one day I guess I'll say
I've finally conceded

I've given up, brain shrivelled up
I've failed in my mission
I'd hoped to write an ode that might
be full of wit and passion
breakthrough to you and take you to
a wondrous secret mansion
where you could play your time away
it soon might be the fashion

though tough it might just be enough
to change our disposition
to entertain with no more pain
what a pleasant proposition?

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Let's hope it's a bit warmer tomorrow. The sun was nice today, but the wind was cold. Brrrr!

 

Beautiful moon, and wonderful poems. xxxx

 

Earlier today, as I'm doing the laundry and have to stay in to wait for it to finish.

Anyway, here's a thought about what's on the other side of sunshine.

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Sunrise, something dies

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The rising sun is a loaded gun
as it sweeps across the land
the bright white rays
of the brand new day
betray the small dark places where
the prey has tried to hide away

the hungry hunters seek them out
starvation's what it's all about
they need their fresh and tasty meat
their morning hunger to defeat
and keep them moving on their feet
lithe and sleek and quick and fleet

and so they catch the young at play
that have no chance to run away
instead these creatures come what may
become the first course of the day
and when they're done all blood wiped clean
the hunters stalk what else they've seen
that spurs their spit to drool from jaws
and activates their twitching claws

it's one of nature's inate laws
that those who can will kill and eat
the weakest while the strong compete
to find the greatest of the pride
the smallest will just run and hide
for they won't fight if to decide
the leader of the hunting tribe

whose job it is help provide
the members with their daily diet
protein rich still on the bone
a catch a day is what's required
they hunt in teams not all alone
for one on one may not be wise
the hunter could be the one who dies

and so instead a leader leads
the others who do what is needed
circling unsuspecting prey
to make sure they can't get away
and when the trap is fully set
it's sprung and then the team expect
the creature in the trap to try
and race to freedom for their lives

but if the trap's been set out well
the victim soon will face their hell
the hell of knowing what awaits
when exhaustion soon dictates
that speed alone won't set them free
instead they'll be brought down and swiftly
killed then eaten by the hunters
who can then laze by still waters
happy with their stomachs full
grateful for the sunshine's haul

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Back to work tomorrow, for some. Not for me though, I've got too much to do to even think about work this week.

 

Wonderful as always. xxx

 

Today I thought I'd try to do what Stephen Fry did in his book. He did an acrostic, but made it spell out words both at the beginning and the end of each line. So I've done the same.

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Acrostic(h) in time

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Pat was a girl but she was no wimp
ambitious she wanted to write a novella
to some she was a sharp knife with withering wit
a ruler of men like ancient andromeda
chanting the rhythms that keep us in sync
and all the time inside a wonderful aura
killing the time that passes as we speak
ethereal songs that flow throughout time

The above was an acrostic that spelled out 'Patacake' at both ends of the lines

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Well, it's a bit short I know, but that's it for today. See you tomorrow.

 

Quiet day today after yesterday's exertions redoing the white lines up at our airfield. So today I just had a nice long shower, followed by a snooze in my chair. Then HORROR! We've got nothing for tea!! So after that it was all limbs to the pump to get something prepared for when they get home and wonder what there is to eat.

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Afternoon delight!

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Where did the day go? Honestly!
I sat in comfort in my chair
there's no reason form me to hurry
but suddenly the day's not there

all those hours lost to time
while I slept through the afternoon
then suddenly it's late and I'm
busy cooking, they'll be here soon

the family that is, they'll soon be home
to eat like a flock of famished gannets
I'll have to get my skates on some
if it's gonna be ready for their palates

the smell of onions frying nicely
while I cry, (I did the peeling!)
green beans and carrots neatly diced
all topped with spuds while the meat is sealing

now quickly find the casserole
to dump the whole concoction into
set the oven on the dial control
pop it in and let it cook through

finally it's time to eat
and I'm quite hungry too it appears
how did that pile get on my plate?
I'll just have to make it disappear

so down it goes and now I'm thirsty
time to put the kettle on
cooking is such thirsty work it's
brewing time, so what's now on

the telly after dinner's finished
we'll do the plates in an hour or two
let's sit back and quietly digest
all the food I've cooked for you

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See you tomorrow, after I've done the shopping that is!

 

Early one today. It's lovely and sunny outside, but not very warm. Never mind.

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The beginning of the end

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Her kiss was as sweet as it ever had been
but he knew deep down in his heart
that although she was his forever queen
it wouldn't be long till they'd part

t'was her beautiful eyes that betrayed her
her touch though still soft now displayed
her wish to be broken away from his arms
and by such a token she'd cause only harm
to the loving that always had kept them both warm
and safely entwined where they both felt quite calm

it all seemed so false now the die had been cast
for though it would take time it could never last
till the play of emotions that kept them together
would seem like a beast at the end of its tether
that thrashed and contorted to try to break free
from the drudge of relationship hell

like the toll of an old iron bell
that echoes around ancient halls
as the faithful to worship it calls
the clapper that swings for both birthing and marriage
also rings out for the funeral carriage

no respecter of persons is he
from the belfry the ringers can see
the land all around that is barren or sound
and on which new shoots of life can be found
for the circle of living, of loving and giving
is always unbroken, but oh
for lovers it's not always so
the heat of the lust that we hope becomes trust
but doesn't always guarantee
that such is the way it will be

and so just as time passes on
the loving they've shared now has gone
and soon to the memory will be consigned
as they both look elsewhere for someone to rely on
to fill in the emptiness that they both feel

it seems such a shame that it's ended right now
but their love's run its course till it faded and how
it's gone not with a bang but like a faint shadow
that goes when the sun becomes pale and shallow
as clouds hide its brightness and dull down the day
till the gentle breeze blows and they scurry away
to leave us the blue and the sun's golden rays

they don't cure the heartbreak but help us to see
that the pain of rejection eventually
will fade like a headache that's soothed by the sea
and the constant reply of the waves
that break on the shingles, though single they save
their strength for returning into the great deep
where the ocean will nurture their secrets and keep
the motion of ages that stirs in our hearts
the longing for love, as what keeps us apart
is the fear that we'll lose by giving away
our emotions to someone who may not repay
the depth of devotion that we feel for them
a bright shining light like a candlelit flame

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See you tomorrow!

 

Earlyish today, but I still struggled to find summat to write about. So here's today's subject.

.............................

Today's subject

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So what gorgeous pictures will I conjure up
when I flex my fingers this morning
will a new form of vision come bubbling up
one that sparkles like a new idea forming
or will I end up with flat open prose
that leaves you all shouting out "boring!"

that is the question I need to be able
to answer in lines of pure diction
you see as I sit here and think at the table
to write them I must make decisions

and decisions are the hardest of parts
how should I make it sound real
do I try for romance and write of the heart
or do I write about food and my meals
or perhaps nature, red in tooth and in claw
that creates an image of cruelty
but it's not my intention to make it so raw
that you're shocked by the pain of reality

no really I think that I should knuckle down
and write about something mundane
you know like friendship or mates or the like
or the people who live down the lane
those strange old people who wander around
like ghosts in the morning and evening
going to who knows where with no sound
not even the sound of them breathing

they never acknowledge me when they pass by
I think they're on some other plane
as they stare into space from their rheumy old eyes
that see nothing they want or can gain
from looking at me as I saunter along
with eyes and ears all agog
looking for subjects to write that belong
in my poem a day catalogue

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See you Frixxxxxday. It's Shakespeare's birthday tomorrow. I wonder If I'll be bard from it?

 

My sincere apologies for not thanking you NJ.
They are all brilliant. X

 

It's St George's Day today, and the Bard's birthday, and Barbarah's birthday (an old girlfriend!). So I thought I'd have a rant about, well nothing really. Anyway, here it is.

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Rant for the day

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It was late morning, around seven o'clock
I walked into town to see what was what
spotting the postman doing his rounds
I asked if he had any letters

he answered me 'Yes, I have letters for all
but none for you that I can recall'
then he looked in his bag just to check and make sure
before shaking his head
'Sorry!' he said and walked off

so I wandered on down to the coffee dispenser
and ordered my normal morningtime brew
and with latte in hand I looked at the papers
then sat in the park and the headlines perused

there was nothing of interest there on the sheets
so I guess that no fights had occurred on the streets
but for all that they know there might be some discreet
comings and goings all throughout the night
but away from the journalist's beady eyed sight
so what happened and where would not come to light

unless and of course the perps had recourse
to tell him of what had gone down
in the seedier parts of this dirty old town
but for now we don't know coz it's all underground
where the real and important stuff happens
and the girls and their pimps don't feel challenged
by hacks who go snooping for headlines and scoops
that sell papers next day on the news stand

by now it was getting near eight of the clock
and so far I'd done nowt but drink coffee
it was time to go home and sit myself down
to write out some more lines of copy

I wonder what stories I can make up
to attract the curious reader?
the one who will buy and not just walk by
when they see the sensational leader
on the paper I write for, the morning gazette
you know the one, it's the cheapest one yet
that has all of the news and stories galore
of the seedier side with buckets of gore
that indulge their all their fancies like never before
and titillate those with a penchant for more
of the same kind of rubbish picked up from the floor
so that they can feel righteous and loudly deplore

the way that this country is going
it's the way that the water is flowing
from the tap to the sewer
to the old from the newer
yet still they want stories so lewd
of people who died in the nude
like the late Ms Monroe, who everyone knows
was the person Jack Kennedy was screwing

but who cares it's all in the archives
shining light on those people with dark lives
who lived in the past
and who's lives went so fast
that we don't get an honest perspective
instead we read only selective
tales of the dirty
the low and the flirty
who are nearly all now on the wrong side of thirty

yet still they want to feel young
as though for them Spring has just sprung
and the sap is still rising
it's not really surprising
they read all they can, they're desparate fans
of the print that I put out surmising

about motive and action
it's just a distraction
from their normal inaction
and gives satisfaction

in a kind of vicarious way
both yesterday and today
so they can while away
their time till they pop
they can never stop
to read any real news at all
but just eyeball and then be appalled

at the dirt from the gutter
it's not talk it's just mutter
and we all know it's really just utter
invention, the words only leave an impression
of the truth when it's not, but it's certainly got
something that pulls you all in
like a whirlpool that sucks as it spins

and rakes in the profits for hacks and street prophets
who proselytise on the walls, yet tell you nothing at all
of what really matters, they're all just mad hatters
sitting at the tea party from Hell
I'm sure if you read you can tell
the slick from the wise, the one's whose own lives
have been lived like the stories they sell

I sometimes think they should all wear a bell
and announce 'I'm unclean' as though they all smell
and the stench that they leave might help you percieve
they're not worth listening to, as they try to bamboozle you
with stories like these of corruption and sleaze
when all that we need in the papers we read
is the truth as it is, with no spin and no fizz
no opinion or take, no indignance that's fake
just the unvarnished truth for a change

it covers a very broad range
and although we might first think it strange
I'm sure we'd get used to it quickly
we're not all so dim or so thick we
can't think for ourselves or leave on the shelves
the dross that would render us sickly

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See you tomorrow!

 

WEll done BJ

 

Another long one I'm afraid. I got carried away a bit, so you'll have to sit and get yourself comfortable before proceeding or you could end up with a back that's exceedingly sore, then you won't want to read anymore.

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Thank you for the day(s)

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Well, the Bard had his day, and so did St George
now it's the turn of everyone else to have theirs
so who wants to go first and claim their day, hmm?
it won't cost a thing though you might want to share

if it's all too much bother to have your own day
you could always just use someone else's
and add on your name to the list, and I'd say
it's a shoe in you'll soon on that basis

be famous for all of a quarter of an hour
or so Andy Warhol once told us
though he was famous for quite a while more
doing Campbell's soup prints on his canvas

he nevertheless ended up being shot
although I believe he recovered
so perhaps being famous like him is just not
all it's cracked up to be I've discovered

instead perhaps one would prefer anonymity
but really, would you, or not?
I'm not sure I want to be famous per se
but I don't want to quietly rot
away in old age with no-one to know
about all the things that I've done

I don't like to show all my talents at once
but perhaps some of them should be known
as I'm sure some of yours should be too
coz if I'm not to die completely unknown
then I think we should decide on who
is to get higher billing and who gets the lower

you above me or me above you
erm, and even an alternate cover
would be to have both our names over
everyone else like books on a shelf
that don't really stack all that well
but totter and lean but can still be seen
and if we're both lucky might sell

coz I'd like to be rich as I'm sure do we all
but the famous bit could be a chore
it's good to have money to go to the mall
but you don't want your fans queueing out of the door

you'd never get any of your shopping
instead you'd have to stump up for
someone else to get all your things
but that doesn't allow any detours

when a sudden quick glance could find that you fancy
a trinket that shines with unusual lines
a unique thing that could bring you some pleasure
to hold in your hand and feel as you stand
in front of the mirror to treasure
yourself with the jewellery worn pride of place
see the smile of ownership spread over your face
to know that you own an item so rare
that only you noticed it languishing there

in the odd little corner shop tucked out of sight
it's the one at the back two doors down on the right
but then who am I to decide you should try it
when you have your own sense of worth
and only if you find a dearth
of things that you want would you be confident
to enter the shop and then buy it

but all this is getting us nowhere
when our day is not yesterday
but today or tomorrow a day we can borrow
to bestow on ourselves and lift us from sorrow

so who needs a saint or a bard
surely it can't be that hard
to rhyme a few words it does seem absurd
to give someone a day from just what you've heard
of a play or two written in language so hard
that you have to slow down and read it out loud
to try to decipher what the playwright was proud
to put onto paper, with him as creator

and dreamscapes all acted with aplomb for the caper
and comedy scenes that were written to cater
for England's queen Bess and her tastes
and when she was gone for her successor James
who came down from Scotland to carry the flame
of monarchy onwards and so it remains
where now a second Elizabeth reigns

or to canonise people who lived in the past
for killing a dragon as legend would have it
then build metal statues like it really happened
when we know that for certain never once was a dragon
in danger from George or his trusty great steed

but pehaps in the country there was felt a great need
for a hero of sorts who'd ride out on his horse
and take a big chance with a shield and a lance
to save all the countryside's inhabitants
from the savage attentions of our own inventions
a moral achievement that keeps us enthralled
and a day's just a seventh of a week after all

so perhaps we can spare them an hour or two
remembered by us as individuals who
gave us a gift, and a national lift
and before it gets late let's all celebrate
two legends of history though it's a mystery
never mind Agatha will give us a clue
to resolving the question, the question of who
they both were, as even now it's uncertain
if they really existed or were just invented
to help our country succeed
and were only fulfilling a need

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See you tomorrow!

 

Wonderful BJ. XXXX

 

Bit later tonight, but it's been busy here, trying to find our way around the piles of stuff we're sorting out before we can even think of selling. That's at least two years away, but till then we have to stay, so cleaning out the cupboards is the order of the day. Meanwhile, the subject, or should that be object, of tonight's poem is someone who's already moved on, and is now moving in, to his new abode.

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Moving in

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"Let's fire up the boiler and let her rip!"
and with that he turned the plastic dial
then with his other hand he clicked
the button to light the pilot flame

the sound of whooshing quickly sounded
as the flame of blue was neatly framed
in the window of the burner cage
where the pilot flame now faintly glowed

in minutes we could hear the rush
of water moving in the pipes
and soon a ticking noise as well
as warming water flowed to fill
the stone cold radiators hanging
and with the sound of them all banging
from speeding warmth inside the lagging
round the pipes though now it's sagging
and on passing people's trousers snagging
the radiators soon began to
spread some warmth around the room

"At last some heat!" he said with pride
"Last night I thought I must've died!
It was so cold here in this place
I swear there were icicles on my face!"

I thought it ridiculous but didn't say it
to think he could have frozen solid
but then I laughed to think such things
I'm sure he must have thought me horrid

never mind I'm sure he'll live
and in fact I'm pretty sure he'll give
his time and money to this old house
now he's finally moving in
amid all the creaking and banging din
of loosened floorboards and central heating
where these two old mates are meeting

comrades in this fine old building
keep together ever fielding
the ravages of passing time
to keep away the ice and rime
and let the mice all run and scurry
around in such a fearful hurry
as though their lives depended on it
but leaving behind a trail of shit

and the faint but sickly smell of urine
soaked for years in rotting boards
from countless generations living
behind the flaking skirting boards

now assails his questing nose
as warmth begins to settle in
and brings the aroma far too close
for comfort, and then looking grim

"Yeuck!" he said, "What is that stench?"
and looking round he eyed the walls
to see from where the smell was coming
into these dust laden halls
but now as heat began to rise through
all the wayward nooks and crannies
the dust of ages flew aloft

the hardened angles soon looked soft
as grey white particles were flowing
and piles of dirty snow were showing
new perspectives to each vista
like a medieval cloister
arched and dark yet with light corners
here and there with buttressed borders
pale and withered in the light
of another moonlit night

so now he sneezed and started cursing
with some tissues his sore eyes nursing
"I can't help it if I'm allergic
to this dust!" his spit ascerbic
then sneezed till a nasal vessel burst
and blood poured from his throbbing nostrils
as tears streamed from his bloodshot pupils

he said "I guess I bought a pup"
I replied "No, and in time things will look up
this place is bound to rise in value
so just sit back, move in and then you'll
soon appreciate the good side of it
when you sell it for a profit!"

"I guess you're right" he said at last
and then together we both laughed
and standing there both silver grey
as moonlight chased the night away
we both shook hands and started grinning
the radiators all were winning
the battle of the damp and rot
and he realised just what he'd got

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See you Moonday! Oh, and it's a full moon tonight as well. Wooooh!!

 

I read the words 'River Song' somewhere, so decided to write a few words along those lines.

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Song of the river

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The song of the river is quiet yet sweet
as it gurgles among the willows that drag
their long curving tendrils that sway where they meet
with tips in the water like fingers that sag
under overhung branches with long leaves of green
to shade the quiet water from sun's brightest light
and help it remain cool from dawn until night
where the fishes can hide although in plain sight

the small darting fish that inhabit the stream
such as minnows and stickleback's bright silvered scales
that flash as they move in the clear running water
they live in close harmony tied to the place
where they hatched from their spawning to join with their race

these creatures and more bring life to the river
a whole ecosystem that passes us by
as we walk along grassy slopes under the shade
of the willow and others that dapple the sunlight
and sparkle the ripples that catch our attention
as they constantly move in the warm summer breeze

enjoying the song of the water that flows
and rustles the leaves on the long willow boughs
we watch as the kingfisher dives to retrieve
small fish or large insects it's stalked from above
to feed it's own young who huddle at rest
at the end of a tunnel in a sandy walled nest
dug out of the bank of the river where it bends
to meander along and slowly pass through
another wild-flower filled and sun-drenched meadow

where fat Jersey cattle lay down in the grass
in the midday sun's heat that beats down from above
then driven by thirst they stroll down to the stream
to drink the cool water and hide in the shade
of the large weeping willow that grows by the banks
of the stream as it trickles and sings in the reeds
the song of the river that flows ever onward
from its source in the higher ground down to the sea

over rocks and small pebbles or sometimes just mud
yet always in motion, it stirs our emotions
it makes a connection although an abstraction
it's another dimension that creates an impression
a sense of occasion, of something that matters
as sunlight and shade like the sounds that it scatters
we hear and we see and we're sure that we know
when we hear the soft song of the river that flows

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See you tomorrow!

 

Bit of a struggle this evening. My back has been hurting so much I couldn't concentrate. I had to change the flooring in my trailer today, and although I took painkillers to keep the pain levels bearable, this evening my back hasn't let me rest at all. Anyway, enough about me, here's a dittie about a couple having a tiff.

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Men can be so maddening!

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"Oh, yeah, I remember that!" he said
and turning with a smile
he sniffed and coughed and nodded his head
and shut up for a while

she looked across to see his face
to find out what he's thinking
but the blank eyed stare he wore against
the world just left her seething

'How can he do that?' she thought
although she didn't say it
"It's just not fair!" she muttered
and in her mind replayed it

the conversation they'd just had
that really had upset her
to think that he'd known all along
he'd win her when he first met her

even though at first she'd found him weird
or a little odd at least
and with his scruffy unkempt beard
he looked a little like a beast

a beast from prehistoric times
you know the shaggy kind
all hair and madly staring eyes
who scratches his behind
then belches loudly when he eats
and bolts down all his food
you really couldn't call him neat
or tidy, he's just rude

rude of manner, rude of speech
he always gets just what he needs
he really is a most annoying creature
in every thought and every deed

and then to go and top it all
he smirked and acted silly
he knew she wanted him to fall
but he wasn't going quietly

he'd stay his own man, always was
she knew he always would be
she might as well admit the truth
relax and just be happy

so now she finally resigned
to going with the flow
"You really drive me mad at times!"
he smiled and said, "I know!
But still you love me all the same
and you know that it's true
I may be just a bum at heart
but I'll always love you!"

at that she laughed and flung her arms
around his neck and kissed him
"Hey not so hard, you'll do me harm!"
but she wasn't really listening

instead the thoughts inside her head
at last began to focus
into a growing love that sheds
all doubt as being pointless

and so these lovers end their tiff
with hugs and lots of kisses
if they don't stop it won't be long
till they're Mister and Missus

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See you tomorrow!