My love is like a three-toed sloth
That’s hanging on a tree.
He hangs about the house, which both
Annoys and angers me.
My love is like a rose’s thorn
That keeps the birds at bay.
He was a grouch when he was born;
He’s still a grouch today.
My love is like the whooping cough,
A mis’rable affliction;
The chance that he would just take off
Is simply idle fiction.
My love is like a boomerang:
I toss him, with a thwack!
And soon thereafter, with a bang,
Unhappily, he’s back.
And so it goes, from day to day;
I'm stuck -- a helpless victim.
I'll add but this: from Life's Bouquet
I wish I hadn't picked him.