I wish he would really piss off,
Stop spouting about “light” and “Breaking”,
The idiot thinks I may love him,
But he really is mistaken.
He stands there in the rose bushes,
Shouting poetry for me to hear.
Comparing me to the radiant sun,
With a randy look and leer.
My folks have often warned about,
Men reciting poems under window.
“beware the ones who won’t bugger off”,
So, they armed me with a bow.
With a mighty heave, the string pulled taut,
The arrow flies, its aiming true
The running away Romeo.
Has his head ventilated through.
You may shed a bitter tear,
Was it romantic his intent?
But poor old creepy Romeo
Should have known about consent.