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Since the election is going so well (keep talking, Marlowe, I'll just sit back and watch), and since I'm (surprise) low on time, I'm going to freestyle (not drop rhymes -- put your drawers back on, ladies -- I'mma just riff un peu in prose) about the houseguest from hell, who just finally left chez Chaucer
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Time machine soon, time shall be more fleeting.
Get the ballots in as soon as you can
Go vote for Eliza, or vote for Fran.
Handle unsure romances with mittens
When friends are offended, give them kittens.
If this does not suffice, people must eat.
Win friends over with culinary feats.
Nobody's truly fond of anyone now
At least not friends, if you're wondering how
It involves a study, a lock, a boy
And a girl, their hearts mistaken for toys.
Worse yet, the girl has a sister who guards
And might seem ready to kill, many are
Ready to pounce on the moron clueless
Of consequences, just viewing their bliss.
The dance has come, and now has passed away
Everyone has something awkward to say
Yet the words don't come, or they can't suffice
Frightening it is to hope for some lice.
At least then we would stray from thoughts of love
And in surrender raise our hands above.
That's all I've got. I hope it's all right, though it obviously can't compare to yours, or obviously, anyone else's. I'm not exactly a poet... But I hope it works.
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