The RM

I had to write a victorian monologue for one of my classes. I think it turned out pretty neat.


The RM

From foreign lands and cities grand,
I return home, glory bound.
With honor pristine, and conscience clean,
I hunt, my prize to be found.

I served honorably and that makes me,
A bachelor, of grandest sort.
Which is lucky for me; I must hunt with speed.
(It’s been 3 weeks since my final report.)

The Prez told me, “After you’re released,
Go out and find a wife.”
So I search young and old, for a girl I can mold,
To serve me throughout life.

Freshmen, I find, are the most malleable kind.
Their minds too young and naive,
To realize that I whisper sweet lies.
Upon my cheap words they’ll believe.

I met her there, on Brigham Square.
I told her by the library,
“I just feel that it’s right,” and without any fright,
I asked her to marry me.

She’s only eighteen, and what a bride she’ll be.
“The wedding’s next week!” we announce.
It’s truth I’ve been told, “Don’t let them get old,
Or they’ll wise up before you can pounce.”