Struck
By
Love’s
Herb
Tipped
Spear,
He
Falls
For
A
Lady’s
Obvious
Charms,
And
Tries
To
Take
Her
Into
His
Arms,
Victim
Of,
By
Gosh,
By
Golly,
Fragrant,
Flagrant
Folly.
But
She,
Ironed
By
Custom,
Pressed
Flat
By
Habit,
Is
Meeker
Than
A
Rabbit,
Declines
A
Lover’s
Blind
Sacrifice,
The
Bloodless
Wound
Of
Affection,
And
Runs
The
Opposite
Direction.