I loved that little antelope
but knew I never had a hope;
how could such beauty love a beast like me?
My love was true, I loved her well,
I love you still, my sweet gazelle;
Why did it have to end in tragedy?
,
Each day I sent my love a rose;
I hoped its scent would please her nose.
I sang to her each night beneath the moon.
But all she did was laugh at me:
“oh, mangy-mane, you sack of fleas!
You hurt my ears. Why can’t you sing in tune?”
,
Her insults made me feel so sad,
but they grew worse and I grew mad;
for, as you would expect, I have my pride.
I growled and roared, I bit and clawed,
I ate the doe I had adored;
my darling dish, sweet supper, lunch-time bride.
,
I did her wrong, I can’t pretend
that I was right, I won’t defend
my actions; for I know it’s no use trying.
But surely you ‘ll agree with me
that it’s a great mistake to be
so rude to such a fearsome looking lion.
,
Paul Hughes 2009
