I’d like to rhyme you one – a poem

I put on my fanciest costume,
not immune for stress,
but love is an antidote.
I went to your abode.
A knock on the door,
her dad answered and yelled:
‘Ada, it’s Jimmy Moore.’
His daughter appeared,
raven black hair
blue eyes.
I could only stare,
wanted already to say my goodbyes.
But I resisted the urge,
took my paper trembling,
it had taken me forever to these words assembling
to a lovely church.
‘Dear Ada, you are a specimen rare,
I lay my soul bare
to you, for I long for your sweet lavender-scented embrace.
You are leather, you are lace,
sweet and tough,
like it tender and rough.
I can give you these things,
we could have wings.
I am but a pour poet,
but I would be forever in your debt,
if you went out with me.’

Ada smiled,
she got all riled.
‘How romantic, your kind they don’t make anymore.
I am sick of admirers who want to get in my pants, but your poem I adore.’
We went out.
We kissed.
Her parents objected,
but it’s foolish objecting to genuine love.
A year later we married.
We had children with raven black hair and blue eyes.

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