I brought some verses to my love-
The metaphors were trite,
The words were pale and delicate,
The meter wasn't right.
She criticized my lack of taste
In writing such a mess.
The verses totaled only four,
But she could do with less.
Now I have found another love
Who doesn't criticize
My poetry, but makes remarks
About my taste in ties.
Until I find a perfect love
Who will appreciate
My many sterling qualities,
I'll live without a mate.
Bob Johnston