Mr. Allen Weatherby wooed with a dowry of poetry
Ms. Sylvia Cleveland (and her father, rest assured)
to accept his hand in well-to-do matrimony.

Once wedded, Mr. Allen took to drink quite heavily,
and Mrs. Sylvia now considered her circumstance absurd
as her husband would awake mid-slumber to write poetry.

It was not Mr. Weatherby’s fondness for whiskey,
nor his rambling eyes, hands, or money deterred –
there was nothing could plunder their matrimony

until he increased his proclivity to share incessantly
and would rouse her from a heavenly sleep disturbed
for his rhyming, repetitive, blatantly unbrilliant poetry.

Judge Beane weighed the good lady’s testimony
and trusted her prominent Junior-Leagued word.
She would never put asunder sacred matrimony,

so, he granted her a divorce for cruelty –
on grounds, uncontested, we’ve heard.
Life’s too short, alas, for bad poetry;
only it can plunder sweet matrimony.