The Thought That Counts

My love gave me a blade of grass
All jagged, sharp and torn.
He'd picked it from a muddy patch
In someone else's lawn.

My love gave me a piece of glass
Unmarred by spot or speck.
He'd found it when he crashed my car,
Embedded in his neck.

My love gave me a piece of hair,
'Twas long, and blonde, and fine.
He'd found it in our double bed
'Twas neither his nor mine.

My love gave me a pair of shoes
His own, and very dirty.
He gave me polish and a brush;
He gave me 'til two-thirty.

"You cannot say," he said,
"I never give you anything.
With each new passing of the hour,
Another gift I bring".

"You're right", I answered him, and added:
"Guess what my bequest is?"
And I drew my foot back slowly,
And I kicked him in the testes.