Matchmaker, matchmaker, break me some chairs

My mother, from a tender age
Provoked in me an untold rage.
A constant stream of boys she fed
So hoping soon to see me wed.
But without fail, my dear old mum
Her process of selection done,
Presented me, ‘mid gleeful joy
With one especial type of boy:
A lovely lad, quite neat and clean
So liberal he voted Green,
And above all, (it made my day)
Yes, quite invariably gay.

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