Love Poem

I found my perfect lover, but there's something you should know.
He beats me every morning, and fills my boots with snow.
He locks me in the woodshed, rubs thistles in my hair,
He strips me of my garments, and leaves me naked bare.
He ties me to the bed post, feeds my dinner to the cat,
He tells me filthy stories, of an Irishman called Pat.
He's not what you'd call handsome, he's ugly as a stump.
But he holds me in the night, curled up heavy on my rump.
I found my perfect lover, this I know is true,
I found my perfect lover, O my lover, it is you.