A Perfect Match
Born a rebel, proud and free,
A hard working man was he.
Stout of heart and quick of mind,
But hot tempered as you could find.
An Irish lad raised in Dublin,
For sure no one there be troubling.
Not one to run from a fight,
In the pub on Friday night.
Till the day he met his match,
A vixen who liked to scratch.
Angered when he made a pass,
Quite the looker was this Lass.
Smashed his head with a bottle,
Grabbed his throat and gave a throttle.
Clawed his cheek just like a cat,
Slapped him hard and then she spat.
All the while he took her wrath,
Chose to take a different path.
On his knees with bleeding head,
Made the case that they should wed.
Shocked with nothing left to say,
Happily married to this day.
Two souls who were once so wild,
Are soon to have their second child.
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