Umorismo

Mi Amore At My Door

He stood below my boudoir window

Singing from the heart

Waiting for me to listen

To his majestic piece of art

He gazed up so longingly

Unaware of how bad he sung

All the while he kept up his hope

To which he so fiercely clung

You see, I was there all along-

I saw those purple tights grow

And I ran into the kitchen

To cook up the best thing I know..

An iced lemon cake

With vanilla ice cream

Just a little something

To keep me in his dreams

But the poor, sweet fella

Gave up and finally went home

Not smelling the baking cake,

He chose to return to his gnome

I do hope he'll return

Forgetting his distress

Because he did actually have 

The right address!

        A/N: This is not autobiographical!!!! ;)

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©ElizabellaJones