I must decline

Your proposal forthwith


You’re pompous, arrogant,

Far too loud,

Your manners far too strict


If I, as wife,

Were made to do

All feminine of tasks


Though mockery

Be made of me,

I’d leave your house quite fast


And scholars not,

Have writ* of love,

To say a one-way function


All write of love,

In poet’s form,

They say it two-directioned


And poet though

I may be not,

In mind and embodied soul


They fall straight

From my lips:

Such words to tell you no


And I entreat

In you, proud sir,

To ask me not again


To dance under

You skies, for now,

To dance, it would be shame


So hear me now,

You round aged man,

Persist from these dull ways


You’ll take me not,

Forever more,

And never in your days


*NB: Deliberate use of incorrect spelling for audible effect, and for precise rhythm.

The End

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