PROVERBIALLY YOURS, MADAME CLICHE

(female vocal)

Dear Mister Never Get Around to It:
Did they tell you 'only fools rush in'?
It's true all the angels have split
But, then, they have a fear of sin.

Maybe they said 'patience is a virtue'
Virtuous is one thing I'm not
I impatiently stomp my foot at you
And say 'strike while the iron is hot!'

Maybe I should "let sleeping dogs lie"
But then "nothing ventured, nothing gained"
You'd be a fool to ignore my cry
Can't you see our love is preordained?

I guess "tomorrow is another day"
And that "true love never grows old"
Do you really care what they say?
You never do as you are told.

I guess you know it's "first come, first served"
And it's always the best who go first
Your hesitation has me unnerved
Is that supposed to mean I'm the worst?

I guess when you're in doubt you do nothing
Regarding me there can be no doubt
I sure hope that "time cures all things"
I'm developing a permanent pout.

Don't you know "a stitch in time saves nine"?
You must think I'll wait for you forever
Somebody told you "time makes the wine"
You know I'll be there for you whenever.

Don't you know "the early bird gets the worm"?
How long do you expect me to wait?
You must think anticipation makes me squirm
Which is why you're waiting so late.

Did they tell you "better late than never"?
This worm might bring you a sewing kit
Did you think the tortoise so clever?
Don't mixed metaphors give you a fit?

I heard "he who hesitates is lost"
You must think you're on the right path
Or perhaps you prefer me tempest-tossed
To win my love, first you incur my wrath?

Maybe you're just "careful what you wish for"
You're afraid "you just might get it"
Maybe you think I'll even the score
If I land you in my catcher's mitt.

You must think "good things come to those who wait"
I assure you I'm a very good thing
If you don't ask me out on a date
You'll never hear those wedding bells ring.

"A bird in hand is worth two in the bush"
That's what the philosophers say
To capture me you won't have to push
I'm proverbially yours, Madame Cliche.
© 2001 by Michael J. Farrand


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