The Opportunity Collector

NOTE: I, at one time, believed this poem to be quite funny. Now, a year or so later, I have no idea what I found so funny. Oh, well...

I know you asked me to marry you,
And when I said no, you asked me why.
I can only tell you the truth,
I don’t want opportunity to pass me by.
Think of all the fun I’d miss,
If I were tied down to you.
And what of my dreams of wealth,
When housework is all I’d do?
I must refuse to marry you,
Because of what’s best for me,
For I wouldn’t want to miss out,
On a single opportunity.

I hear a knock upon my door,
So many times a day,
That I’ve learned how to tune it out,
And continue on my merry way.
It can become quite annoying,
The persistent little tapping,
Like a pesky little dog,
Around my heels, snapping.
But as I mentioned earlier,
I am terribly used to the rapping,
Upon my wooden door,
It no longer disturbs my napping.

Each knock brings something different,
Something I would never normally do,
Offering me chances galore,
To constantly try something new.
“Go away!” I shout,
To the little knocks at my door.
Only if I hear them, of course,
I’ve learned how to ignore.
“I don’t want to be rich!”
I shout to the opportunity.
It fades and soon another comes,
I ask, “What do you want from me?”

They come in droves or all alone,
To knock upon my door of wood.
I wonder if they’d go away,
If they knew that I never would,
Accept their offer of chances.
My father said to remain away,
From the luring calls of opportunity,
That knock upon my door every day.
So I sit in my house doing nothing,
As the opportunity comes knocking,
Upon my battered door of wood,
I wonder if I could file a report of stalking?