Bad poem...What to do.. What to do..

I sat before an old mother distraught

With fears for her son, who went out and bought

A great bunch of flowers,
And spent too many hours,

Wooing a woman, with all the ambition
Of being of the nunish condition.

Sighing as she told me of her complaints,
I began to see the depth of my mistake

For of the nunly woman, I knew her all too well

And if she lied, then tonight she would very likely be off to hell

For denying the facts, of what she had done

For in the previous year, she had birthed her own son
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....