For many weeks
I searched high and low
Among soggy cheese sandwiches
Covered with a green dough
Under the bed
With an amount of trepidation
But only found a refugee
From some far off Nation
I checked every drawer
In my very tall chest
And found another refugee
In a very dirty white vest
Behind the sofa
Amidst a furore of dust
No bottle of love
Just a mouldy old pie
With a very hard crust
I searched the kitchen
Though staring evil eyed potatoes
And a mountain of old greens
Then found it hiding
Behind a decrepit tin of beans
I drank with a lust
Hoping to find my lost mate
Then noticed the bottle
Was ten years out of date
My stomach churned
And my blood did boil
And next my trousers
I really did soil
So there is a moral
To a sad and lonely tale
Stick to the sell by date
Or your love life will fail