You raised the bar, Darlin'
on wholesale love.

You're such a pretty cat, me Darlin'
but you **** doves!

You're such a pretty cat, Darlin'
but you **** doves!

You raised the bar, Darlin'
on wholesale love.

I'm just a pretty boy, my Darlin'
here to implore your love.

I'm just a pretty boy, my Darlin'
but you **** doves,
or was that rabbits?
====

* No animals were harmed in the writing of these lyrics, but regrettably, a few injuries did occur at a subsequent recording session.

Wanted, bad poems.
We are an international publisher
specializing in bad poetry.
Not bad poetry,
but really, really bad poetry.
Your submission should include one or more of the following words:
Heart,Shard,Wind,Love,Hate,Death, I (lots of I's).

I've enjoyed our  bacchanal,
thus far verbal,
in the same way let's take a walk,
you pick the route,
down along the river
where we can compete skipping rocks,
or through a sylvan path
where I could show you that I'm gallant,
perhaps saving you from a low hanging branch,
then there's that orchard where I've heard your kiss 'n tell.
You pick the route so we can hold hands and talk.

The week is weak,
and the morning weaker still,
and you, my dear now slumber in,
while I tossed and turned all night,
upon an imagined pyre of our in flagrante delicto.

Once you've performed your spousal duties,
and bathed off the stench of him,
and he lay sleeping his swine sleep,
and the night's spirits have spirited him toward morning,
listen for that pebble thrown against your window
'Twill be I, the village swain, 'twill be I!

There's so much to learn
at the super check-out,
Oprah's last diet,
speculation that Tom might be queer,
Angelina's new tattoo, or was that baby?
And that Jennifer still has this thing for Pitt(s)

Oh to live in a golden age
when a bard's quilled words
would feather a goose down bed
or get thyself royally laid.