“Come on now, you seem so down-hearted,”
Now, don’t you get me started!
“What, especially, is troubling you?”
How long, to listen, have you too?
Where do I start? With my broken heart,
In what little part? Not a false start,
There I was in love. Not given a shove,
But falling head over heels in love.

Then came that ghastly person,
A very real life version,
Of a truly treacherous sod.
Not only that. He was a vile clod.
I was taught rapidly to hate,
To, in fact, wish to exterminate,
That most vile rapscallion,
Earn a sought-after medallion,
Eliminate the enemy quickly,
Oh, the whole issue makes me sickly.
What a rotter, what a consummate clown,
This repugnant clown tore my love down
Stole her heart away. What can I say?
And there he did stand, an ass about to bray.
“Why did you not fight?”
“For your inalienable right,”
“To keep her heart true to you?”
“You should have done so, too,”
It all happened so fast,
And I was so very downcast,
He had such allure, to so quickly procure,
The affections of my dear love, to be sure.
But I got the rotter back,
I’m not just a silly sad sack,
I tricked him into going,
Without really knowing,
To go to a party,
Quite hale and hearty
Where enemies of his did attend,
There he came to a quite sticky end!

As he arrived, he might have survived,
Had he kept his big mouth unrevived.
But he couldn’t help bragging.
Blathering about and nagging.
It turns out that for one Mister
My true love was his sister.
And that brother pulled down his hat,
To his neck, that was that,
He never recovered,
Indeed he was smothered,
And sagged right down to the floor.
Word quickly got back to me, what is more.

But my true love, for him, was pining,
So I am still moaning and whining.
Perhaps she will recover her wits.
I still dearly love her to bits.
I may go to join the French Foreign Legion,
Serve in a harsh desert region,
To pine over my long lost wench.
The main problem is that I do not speak French!