Rejection so terse,
hardly worth a verse.
Almost like a curse,
love's call now worse.

Playful Lady Chaos,
feels not heart's loss.
Like a total Boss,
she exclaimed: "Gross".

Tossing it aside,
that heart now abide,
the hall of rejection,
in silent contemplation.

Stoned as it was,
with over use of grass.
It sees chance pass,
with a word not crass.

No mortal has the rocks,
to open Pandora's box.
Without taking knocks,
that stop heart's clocks.

Next should think maybe,
that She's a classy Lady.
Before going crazy,
with a poem so lazy.

At least next time,
try to make it rhyme!

Penned by my hand on the 4th of Valnuary, in the year 864 AF.