15th May 2014

Sonnet 145


She  Those lips that Love's own hand did make,

Now speak a lot less love than hate

To him that played  them for my sake;

And when I see his woeful state,

I go that's it, our end has come:

Tongue lashing's wrong but oh so sweet

So worth it so what if it's doom -

Sticking together's one big greet.

He  Don't be daft - you know we can't end

This decider Match of the Day,

There's no ref could send off this fiend,

This dirty Dad, for games away.

    Together Let's ignore expletives we threw,

                     Sing songs for our team - Man and U.