Mr Tee was a man of modern design.
He had lots of money and he loved his red wine.
He charmed the ladies with his gentle smile
And implied he would go the extra mile.

But as a small boy when he stepped out of turn
His mother had given him a chinese burn.
He found many friends when he went to school
Especially when he came first in the swimming pool.

He wanted to have his friends stay over
But no way could he let them meet his mother.
His Dad was fine, he taught him everything
But his Mum was dirty and screaming.

And so at age ten Mr Tee decided
That never again would he be derided.
He would always hold all the power
And so his life would never be sour.

He was rather good looking
If not perfectly handsome
And he made enough money
To pay a handsome king’s ransom.

Long he reigned over how he felt
And he hid his feelings of love underneath.
So his heart would never melt
But neither would he be able to breathe.

For every woman he dated he was charming
To the point of being very disarming.
His honeyed words carried the day
And each woman neatly gave way.

But with his feelings all locked up
With each encounter he cocked up.
Mr Tee got his vengeful pleasure
But without any true measure.

From behind his charm he brought out his sneer
For she who could have been so dear.
He couldn’t allow feelings of love
To come out and bring her near.

Many women disliked his behaviour
And dismissed Mr Tee from their minds.
But some women couldn’t waver
And failed to throw the binds.

One woman in particular couldn’t let go
Of her lust for him and his ways.
She was determined to conquer and sow
The love which she hoped would grow.

But the more she tried to please and placate
In the hope he would reveal his love
The more Mr Tee would manipulate
Her and his feelings below not above.

He wanted love and he pushed it away.
She wanted love and tried to grab it.
He pushed and she pulled, he pushed and she pulled
Until their life together was habit.

They couldn’t love and they couldn’t leave
They couldn’t bear to be apart.
They made each other sorrow and grieve
For the love they should have had from the start.

Copyright Sandra Roe