I’m not great at romantic stuff; this was written for my wife’s birthday, proving the point.
Don’t ask me to write you a love poem,
It’s not what I do.
I’ll do poems that are funny or clever,
A quirky verse or two;
I could knock out a sonnet on drinking too much,
Or how our kids have grown tall:
But don’t ask me to write you a love poem,
That’s not what I do, at all.
I could churn you out doggerel ‘til the dogs come home
Pursued by proverbial cows,
I could turn out some verse on next door’s cat
Who sits on our step and meows,
If you want sentimental I’ll write dewy-eyed
About Dad’s hard life as a docker:
But forget about getting a love poem,
That stuff’s not in my locker.
If it’s love poems you crave I’ll buy you a book
Full of poets who’ve mastered the art
Of scratching on paper a jumble of words
To melt a coy mistress’s heart;
Who’ll swoon and sigh from one line to the next,
Who’ll weep at the drop of a hat:
But I’ll not master the love poem,
I can’t get my head around that.
The Valentine Card I’ll send you each year
With its hackneyed, factory verse
Is the nearest you’ll get to a love poem from me
This side of a ride in a hearse.
I’ve tried to write you a Mills & Boon,
Abandoned more than a few:
So I’ll never write you that love poem,
But I love you, Patsy, I do.