Is It Too Late?

Why does it always have to rain;

If he was my ideal mate

I wouldn't mind him being late.

He's short and bald and slightly fat,

He always wears a porkpie hat;

His chin has growth that's two days old,

He constantly sniffs though he hasn't a cold.

My hair, newly set, is now quite lank,

My heart into my boots has sank.

It's so degrading to be stood up

Pitied like some homeless pup.

I'll only give him five minutes more

And then I'm off, through that door;

For in the cinema I might find

A gentleman who is nice and kind.

By now I should have learned to cope,

But still I hold on to my hope

That around the next corner he might be,

The ideal man just for me.

Now I see him coming my way,

Oh, yes, he has just made my day

For out of his pocket he pulled a ring

And said that together our hearts will sing.

For though he's short and bald and old

He really has got a heart of gold;

Together we'll spend the rest of our years

And I for one won't shed any tears.