E-mailing my OLD friend, the Roman poet Catullus

What’s this???
Puella mea me non amat.
Vale, puella! Catullus obdurate . . . .
(My girl does not love me.
Farewell, Catullus will endure.)

Catullus, salve me amice!
Just read your note that IMHO suggests
thinly disguised relief at the termination of your obligation
toward your lady friend.
Sure sounds ominous as I read about your latest
disappointment with THAT puella. Are you serious?

Sorry to hear she dumped (left) you, LMAO!
I never thought this would happen,
for you and your puella have been thick
as thieves and never parted company
till the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn
or her husband appeared.

Well, Catullus, these things happen,
not just in your time; nothing has changed
over these past two millennia.
Glad to hear you will endure your loss, even
without her kisses. Now that she no longer
deserves your presents and roses, think
of all the denarii you could save.
Girls don’t come cheap; my wife is the exception,
content with the occasional poetic couplet.

Anyhow, this latest development at your end
should leave you with all the more resources
for toga parties and visitations to wine houses
and those other places you so enjoy
(wink wink, nudge nudge), LOL.

I am well, my friend; wish you were here.
There are countless wealthy puellae in my over-55
community; they outlived their husbands
and would love you for your erotic poetry.

Ut dico vos verum, to speak the truth, I no longer
venture outside my house without a big stick--
(is “talea” the right word?) to ward them off,
ever since I had published some of my own
passionate love sonnets that were, at least
in part, inspired by your own poetry.

Take heart my dear friend, and remember:
“Si finis bonus est, totum bonum erit,” or as we say,
All’s well that ends well. Come and visit.

And, for Rhadymanthas’ sake, Catullus,
don’t take any wooden denarii, and watch out
for those Romans bearing gifts with strings
attached; let me e-mail you a yo–yo, LOL.
Okeydookey, vestri amicus. Vale,

Giraldus