They say love is like a red, red rose,
But love is also like a nose.
And noses also come in red.
So, love is like a nose, instead.
Though many, through the years have tried it,
There really is no way to hide it.
For, true love is not hard to trace--
It's as plain as the nose on your face.
Then, why is it, do you suppose
We pick on our love-- we pick at our nose?
Why, when they start to irritate us,
Do we give them cause to hate us?
We hack away, like one, possessed,
When noses want to be caressed.
We poke and gouge and scrape and shove
When we know we shouldn't pick at our love.
Now, listen to me-- for, I've a point to make.
And memorize it for goodness sake!
Lovers. Noses. Red, Red Roses
Should be pampered, I've tried to show it.
Now, please dear friends...
Try not to blow it.
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