Please note that this poem is pure fantasy!
Oh, really, I find it so unutterably tedious
to be polite when faced with one so odious
as you. And yet, I must say
that you do, at times, take my breath away,
at least when I forget all your manifold flaws,
and the gold stashed beneath your creaky floorboards;
but I don't mean to be too unduly unkind,
it's just that I find it near impossible to unwind
at the end of the day:
Please let me explain, if I may:
You see, I come from a long line of dreamers,
most of whom turned out to be the worst kind
and I'm sorry to say that they were, without fail,
both sardonic and deceptive, and mostly in gaol -
well, at some point in their unspeakable lives;
unsurprisingly, not one of them survives.
But their stories of easy and dishonest gain
made a powerful impression on my impressionable brain,
and yes, I was listless putty in their hands,
so eager to please, while imagining Cannes …
… in the summertime.
Oh, what a fool! – it's all been my fault,
and now I've performed yet another assault
on a blameless wretch. I can only wallow
in pitiful failure, with lots more to follow.
Yet I can't seek forgiveness - it's just not my style,
and I'm sorry for my rudeness, and - oh, wait a while …
… I now realise (and I hope you're beguiled)
that I once was a wondrous and whimisical child:
affectionate, witty, or so I've been told,
so peaceful and happy, and not ten years old!
Would it prove disrespectful to acknowledge the fact
that somehow, at some time, I've probably backed
a few slow-ish horses, one or two lazy hoops?
I'm resigned to the future (like my family's dupes!).
So when you come up with these flashes of brilliance,
take account of your listeners' respectful resilience -
if you please. I won't be envious, mocking, naĩve,
'Oh, what a tangled web we weave
when first we practise to deceive'.