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This poem is pretty silly, but I like the challenge of using only one rhyme for an entire poem. More of a puzzle than anything else.
Lucky at Languages, Unlucky at Love
The night was warm and balmy and he was a man in uniform.
She was adept at languages from French to Greek to Cuneiform.
They met one balmy evening on the Eiffel Tower.
He aided her in climbing, then offered her a flower.
She thanked him first in French and when it drew a puzzled glance,
she surmised he must be from a place other than France.
She tried again in English, in Spanish and in Greek.
She would have tried her Chinese, but her Mandarin was weak.
She pointed to his medals, his ribbons and his bars—
all his decorations. She counted all his stars,
but could not find the language to express admiration.
And thus the evening ended, I fear in consternation.
The moral of the story? Put your horse before the cart.
It’s best to know love’s language before you give your heart.
The prompts today were uniform and balmy. Here are the links: