Brilliant English poet Alexander Pope wrote,"Let sinful bachelors their woes deplore; full well they merit all they feel, and more: unaw by precepts, human or divine, like birds and beasts, promiscuously they join"
To Mr. Pope I would reply in the form of a limerick:
There was once a poet named Pope,
To kiss a girl he could but hope.
He sat in his Grotto,
To cry and get blotto,
It was the only way to cope.
To kiss a girl he could but hope.
He sat in his Grotto,
To cry and get blotto,
It was the only way to cope.
Aww snap, that's a burn... a seventeenth century burn.
