By Marcail with thanks to Will
My disappointment was an enormous fink wad splat upon the ground,
Its colour, sheer size and shape attracting attention,
The cause becoming the duty of my relentlessly keen bloodhound
That ran, and sniffed, and dug, and howled in furied desperation
Until the meaning was lost to drastic dramatization
And everyone enjoyed the thrill as the play chaptered my life,
Even I, starry-eyed, wallowed in status and perfect characterization
And watched enthralled, as disappointment evolved to all-out strife.
Now as I don the robes of clever Kate, the untameable fishwife,
I understand that such roles take on a life of their own
Until stupidly, we ready to impale our flesh upon the knife.
So daughters, I implore, control your passions lest they become overblown,
Love's disappointments, tho' sad they be, are not high tradegy.
Love freely and fairly as you garner your lessons and live graciously.