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.