Arthur Hacker, the Drone, 1899
For my valentine, I shall not be neither shy nor retiring.
In opaque flimsy, whimsy silk and bustier I shall be attiring.
I hope my valentine shall find my choice of clothes inspiring.
And make him think of the same sorta night as I’m desiring.
I never tire of writing bad rhyming poetry.
My lasting contribution to lyrical artistry.
Weaving rhymes into a rich, worded tapestry.
Some say what I do to language is banditry.
And, the world better off if I stuck to dentistry.