Look at him: Henry, the great golden armchair,
Mostly upholstery, well-padded hose;
Frequent companion of Love's busy archer,
A serial suitor, this man of the Rose;
Look at him closely. Behold Cupid's bulldozer –
Cheeks of a butcher and purse of a thief –
No sooner he'd married, no sooner he'd faulted her,
Green shoot of spring turned to dead autumn leaf.
Look at those eyes, though, anyone's eyes -
Strangely anonymous, stuck on his face.
It's hardly unusual that family ties
Are a tough proposition, and prone to unlace.
Well-cushioned Henry still tirelessly roams;
He's found to be furnishing many good homes.