A Poem by
Bishop Reginald Heber
A knight and a lady once met in a grove
While each was in quest of a fugitive love;
A river ran mournfully murmuring by,
And they wept in its waters for sympathy.
"Oh, never was knight such a sorrow that bore!"
"Oh, never was maid so deserted before!"
"From life and its woes let us instantly fly,
And jump in together for company!"
They searched for an eddy that suited the deed,
But here was a bramble and there was a weed;
"How tiresome it is!" said the fair, with a sigh;
So they sat down to rest them in company.
They gazed at each other, the maid and the knight;
How fair was her form, and how goodly his height!
"One mournful embrace," sobbed the youth, "ere we die!
So kissing and crying kept company.
"Oh, had I but loved such an angel as you!"
"Oh, had but my swain been a quarter as true!"
"To miss such perfection how blinded was I!"
Sure now they were excellent company!
At length spoke the lass, 'twixt a smile and a tear,
"The weather is cold for a watery bier;
When summer returns we may easily die,
Till then let us sorrow in company."
If there's a head torture that's worse than a snore,
I'd love to know just what exactly that is,
While I lie awake to my wife's nasal roar,
She slumbers contented in comatose bliss.
I plead with her, "Anne, show some sympathy please,
I have to get up for my shift in the morn,
Yet, dear, you continue to snore and to wheeze
And I'm still awake when the birds sing at dawn!"
She vexedly scoffs, "Ed, quit the dumb cheeping,
When you get grumpy, it is such a bore,
It isn't my fault you have trouble sleeping,
And despite what you say, no way do I snore!"
My reader, I swear this is madly untrue,
That woman, she's making me haggard and ill,
For when she gets going, the row from her tubes
Is worse than the din of a pneumatic drill!
I have tried everything I can to curb her,
From hugs to a pinch to a full body shake,
But nothing I try can darn well perturb her,
Short of a bomb and maybe an earthquake.
Divorcing's the answer for weary me,
I can't bear my headachy bed any more;
For there are two people I wedded, we see:
My dear, calm wife and that mad shrew who snores!