My Own Little Noise

This sonnet is all only about me,

because I was born to be a lover.

I’m made from roses, chocolates, stars; you see,

it’s true.  I’m more love than any other.

You should call me Romeo, ‘cos I love

Rosaline.  Oh Rosaline, please be mine.

You see, I’m star-crossed; it’s the real stuff

this love.  Not just any old pick up line.

But no!  Fie, fie and fie again, oh woe

is me!  I do not love thee anymore

dear Rosaline.  There’s someone else.  Although

you’re nice, it’s Juliet who fits the score.

Oh!  I forgot to mention, I think that

Romeo, oh Romeo, is a twat.