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.