Poor Cecil, consumed by a grande passion, only to be told to compress his love manifesto into a haiku. “I won’t try to excuse my behavior,” he said. “It was despicable.”

Or a limerick.

There once was a rotter named Cecil,
Whose Love Interest wished he could be still.

Oh well. Unlike some, at least, I’ve never pretended to be a poet.

Author: Franny Billingsley

Poor Cecil, consumed by a grande passion, only to be told to compress his love manifesto into a haiku. “I won’t try to excuse my behavior,” he said. “It was despicable.” <br /><br />Or a limerick. <br /><br /><i>There once was a rotter named Cecil, <br />Whose Love Interest wished he could be still. </i><br /><br />Oh well. Unlike some, at least, I’ve never pretended to be a poet. - Franny Billingsley



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