Since I'm here I'll write a poem,
Started now but where's it going?
Joy of love and pain of gout
Is what true art should be about.
I do love thee, know it well,
Love is lovely, gout is hell,
Fain would kiss thy sweet appendages
But my leg is swathed in bandages,
I would chase thee swift and quick
Though I hobble with a stick,
I would drink thee to the dregs,
Then I'd steal your pretty legs,
Come and stroll beneath the trees,
I just need some working knees,
Call the parson, bring the surgeon,
Love doth blossom, gout doth burgeon,
Lovers' tryst and cripple's curse,
Marry me and be my nurse.