Bad poetry

Oh, sweet irony. Your hair is like fairies' whips. Your eyes an hot iron to my soul.
Your lips, sweet aural justice bring. And your hold, like that of a bear, on my very being.

I surrender to you oh cruelest of fates. What man has you take in return for a bittersweet stay.
A life ruined is worth two in the bush. For what doesn't kill us, queer enough, shall make us stronger each day.