You lech, you loon,
my heart does swoon.
You madman, you fool,
play it oh so cool.
My heart, this head,
just get me to bed.
My hand, a thrust,
I fall deep, no fuss.
My shout, your moan,
if we could've known.
My words, false hate,
and again it's too late.
Claudia Fitzgerald
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-trouble-with-some-women-is-they-get-all-excited-about-nothing-and-then-they-marry-him-cher/
