That you would turn me down, I never dreamt.
I was nonplussed that you would choose a youth
so rough and rude, in aspect so unkempt,
in manner so decidedly uncouth.
Disgruntled and distressed, in short I wept.
With fierce hot tears my eiderdown I scorched,
lamenting that I had been so inept
as to lose my love to one who was debauched.
At length my cries abated, and, dishevelled,
my face a mess, my hair, like his, unruly,
I made myself a meal of kidneys (devilled)
and wondered if I’d ever loved you truly.
Now tressed and hevelled, once more kempt, in truth,
I am gruntled, bauched, plussed, ruly, ept, and couth.