My Sweet Woodruff

I lost all my respect for you and yours
When disappointment caused your maiden aunt
To turn into a raving sycophant
Among the always-titivating bores,
And shining their old shoetops, on all fours,
While they disparaged my sweet woodruff plant.
I say they’re overfull of precious cant,
Claiming the’re vegans — the lost carnivores!

I put sweet woodruff in my potpourri,
The good scent of vanilla, new-mown hay,
And virtue. Since day before yesterday
My room has been sweet-scented, pleasing me
With something better than your family,
Your captive hearts, and your flat feet of clay.

Every Time We Meet

Write me a letter if you must complain,
Since every time we meet things start to burn;
Events move past the point of no return.
Now, if I there still was anything to gain
I’d make the effort, but it’s all in vain:
What’s there to understand? What’s left to learn?
Just this one thought, darling: best we adjourn
And live apart — here I’m thinking of Spain.

You were a beautiful but faithless bride:
The day before I ran, you still could thrill me,
And then that last evening you tried to kill me.
Was what we had still good? I can’t decide.
Now, every time we meet, I’m terrified,
So if you think I owe you something, bill me.