My troll-y Cole, you stingy old soul,

You show some nerve, to now extol

My virtues as your loving spouse,

I'm not convinced;

You're still a louse!!

Should I return to horror house?

And be your play-thing, little mouse?

You'd dress me up, to look like trollop;

With my trunky leg,

I'll give you wallop!

My wooden leg, do you adore it still?

Then my swift kick, should give you thrill.

And since you're begging, on your knees,

For my return,

Read these terms, please:

I want a post-nup Guarantee;

What's yours, is mine, all legally.

If perchance you have an accident,

(on our yacht, when you're drunk and spent)

The royal treasure, crown, and land,

All pass to me, my eager hand.

You can keep your fiddling band,

Just be discreet, do you understand?

And no more threats of chopping block,

I'll publish pics of your royal crock

In diddler of that fiddler youth;

Then everyone will know the truth,

About King Cole and his merry old pole!!

I am Queen Alice,

This is Damage Control.

Please sign the papers on the dotted line,

There will be no divorce;

We're two of a kind.

Yours Truly

Queen Alice.

P.S Darling dearest, please wear that pink little see-through smock for my home-coming, and I'll take pictures.

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Knightwriter