The Perfect Marriage
I am a simple happy sort
Whose heart’s not full of hunger
Because my bride does higher thought
And she is five years younger
Science says that we’re a match
That’s likeliest to stick
And she thinks I’m a perfect catch
Since I am fairly thick
I am the husband who is heaven
Lacking academic rigour
She’s brighter, oh, by twenty-seven
Clear percentage figures
That’s what she says (my maths is poor)
I’m half a decade older
I’m only fit to sweep the floor
Or so the experts told her
You are the one for me, she raves
And says that I’m her kiddo
As she walks slowly round the graves
And plays the merry widow
It pleases me that wedded bliss
Is subject to a measure
And I lie her and rot like this
And I’m her buried treasure
