(see Horace Ode 1.5)

So who is that guy, reeking of cheap cologne,
Flirting and fawning all over you
With a bundle of roses and cliches,
In that dark secret garden nook
(Where we can all still totally see you)?
Is it for him you’ve done up your hair

All simple, yet sophisticated?
Poor dope. Well, I’ll tell you this:
He’ll soon learn how quickly things can change.
How calm and placid waters can churn
With unexpected, furious storms.

Sure, for now he’s off in la-la land
Dreaming the sweet and silly dream of love
Seeing nothing but your smile and
Conveniently overlooking any gathering clouds.
He’s screwed – same as all the other boys

Who set sail, like him, so unprepared.
And I, with this poem tightly clenched,
Reveal my watery garments dripping now—
An unwilling priest paying unwilling tribute
To the pitiless God of the sea.

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