Romance is dead. Therefore, long live true love!
When all worth saying has been said, I raise
my hat and bow my head, remove the glove
which romance uses well to mask love’s blaze.
Romance, I now pronounce you dead and gone.
You once amused me with your froth and dreams
when I was young and hung my hat upon
a plethora of June-Moon-Spoonly schemes.
Thus, now that it’s deceased, I must declare
romance (emotional masturbation)
is a slick impostor which can’t compare
with love (of which it’s a gross mutation).
For decades by its lies I was misled;
so now it’s good to know romance is dead!
© Copyright, Alan Morrison, 2017