Idyllic life lead in the main
Save lack of love could not complain
A scientist, sage seer
By feminine charms oft smitten
Wooing tried, given the mitten
Alone till death his fear
Spied he was on French holiday
Strolling on the Champs-Élysées
Square rigged, right proper swell
On arm best bib and tucker dressed
A lady with great beauty blessed
Where found he one so belle?
It seems he desperate for a mate
Weary of leaving life to fate
Companionship devoid
He set to task his fertile brain
Inventing love he’s sure to gain
A steam drive humanoid
Each morn they leave their lover’s bed
He pours cold water in her head
One nose press primes the pump
Behind left breast deposits coal
Strikes match to light the heart and soul
wakes she then with a jump
Bang-up job he’s done on his wife
Made to last at least his whole life
For making love designed
Comfort he feels in her embrace
A smile always graces her face
His kiss never declined
Author's Note
If love won't come to you, you go to love.
For this piece I adopted an apparently ancient meter used by Tennyson in "The Lady Of Shalott," At least attempted to do so.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 8 reading list entries 2
comments 12 reads 633
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
Today 1:03pm by EdibleWords
Today 12:32pm by EdibleWords
Today 12:20pm by mcjay
Today 12:05pm by Wafflenose
Today 9:11am by dimpy
Today 8:26am by Rew
") ")}