To Petrarch, from Laura

Cursed is the day he had set eyes on me,
For no peace have I since that day and on.
Harassing me with sonnets most sappy,
Almost to the point where they just sound wrong.
With his rhymes he is obviously pleased,
And words that seem to have come from his heart,
I wonder what heart could be so diseased
As to cast me into such discomfort
I am telling him to leave me alone,
I have no interest in the stalking creep.
Though I'd very much like to pick a bone,
I think he's not worth it, I'd much rather sleep.
Though I have to say he's a good writer,
I think the rhymes of Shakespeare are better.