In verse seven we could tie the knot perhaps.
Said he after his thirteen relapse.
Was he not his plangent self?
She entertained for a brief interlude.
Then sobering up:
This time she had to let him go.
In this very lachrymal hour.
He was mephitic oozing with dark vapours
Surrounded by ghosts of yesteryear
Between them was a huge barrier!
She and she alone was their wedding engineer
He knew of no etiquette
Nor of any rules
Dark ale was his real muse:
His real love.
She dabbed her lips with rouge
and wrote a prothalamium
A fairytale, a fantasy
Before she said her final adios
"I bid you goodbye, fairwell my coarse lover!"
In verse seven they would tie the knot in her prothalamium.