The engagement
On Saturday the fifth, I will meet my bride.
By side of alter, and then decide.
If I should flee, or marry thee.
You may think me cruel, or ungentle of man.
But she’s the type, to toll a man.
By cost and affect, because she can.
By Sunday sixth, she will be Mrs or amiss.
But me a Mister, regardless of this.
Her name in tarnish, but mine varnished still.
As a gentleman untamed, unmarried and with will.
It will be my choice, whether we rejoice.
Or my plan, that I leave her in abandon.
On Friday fourth, I get a jolt.
A letter brought forth, has me revolt.
Miss will not see you on Saturday.
She’s decided against, the matrimony.
How dare she, I gasp!
To leave such a man, not at the alter
But by, the pen of hand.
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