Women my age don’t care for poetry,
by the time the do, I’ll be old and bored with such,
When they be no longer worthy
Then and only then, will they pursuit this heart
Yearning for ballads of love.
I could not afford them as a youth
And I will not afford their egos then, anymore
Than they could afford the truth.
Love is innocent, and beauty fades,
So they’re left merely, a self-serving maid.
