If given a millenium, I might

Find phrases fit to cover love and us.

A library of books I'd need to write,

With not one single word superfluous.

My love writ down in stanzas, tame and terse,

Would weighty tomes and volumes overfill;

To justice do, in fourteen lines of verse,

I'd need the skill of noble Shakespeare's quill.

With three score years and ten I might succeed

In telling not a tenth of all I can,

Mere mortal, I, a dozen lives would need,

And those the length of old Methus'la's span.

To put my ageless love for you in rhyme,

Eternity would not be too much time.

To a Sonneteer from his would be Lady.

Your pretty words, like velvet, touch

Mine ears, in truth, you promise much.

Such fulsome praise might well imply

There's more to this than meets the eye.

A father's only daughter should

Not act in haste; be you so good

To ponder my complaint. I must

Be sure your aim is love, not lust.

Just give me time to weigh the pros

And cons; to contemplate your woes.

A woman need not always be

A fawning slave to flattery.

Make you your rising seas abate;

Our full immersion has to wait.

From a bitter Feminist to her would be Swain.

I have not world enough, or time,

To partake of your pantomime.

Your pretty words, like velvet touch

Mine ears, in truth you promise much.

Thou lounging in the local pub

Should'st drink thy fill; I by the tub

Would'st scrub thy doublet clean. You would

Come back much later than thou should.

I'd be obliged to cook your food

While by the fireplace you'd be glued.

Who'd sweep the floor and make the bed

In which you'd wallow, seeming dead.

The honeymoon a stormy sea

Of tears, and all belong to me.

Each night a symphony of snores;

The solo parts would all be yours.

To bear your children and your kiss,

The sullen fury of your fist.

I never will be second rate;

And sadly must refuse this fate.