To an unfriendly gent

I know not what you think of me,

Nor why you choose to snub me, cold.

I know I am not glamorous.

Perhaps I am too bright, too bold.

But in my boldness, I am glad -

A woman who knows her own mind.

How disheartening, then, to know

No man I've met will love that kind.

Perhaps behind your stoic face

You wish to find a lover, too.

You think, perhaps, I am too good,

Or else, not good enough, for you.

I own, I think the same by turns.

You seem so far out of my reach,

Then I recall my wit, my smile,

My voice, my kindness. My charms each

would earn, I'd hoped, at least a glance.

Alas, it seems, you tire of me.

I, your indifference have earned.

But how I have, I cannot see.