That solemn grandeur gives my man esteem
Before the eyes of men. Yet should I praise
His lofty smile, his pompous turn of phrase?
Will he, in truth, fulfill my golden dream?
When I begin to play my lute and sing,
What song can touch his most responsive chord?
And which, of all my songs, does he adore
So much that he will promise anything?
Of course, we are not often in accord.
And when he urges me to say “milord”,
I find it’s not a trait that I admire.
I do not like the way he coldly calls
Me “saucy wench”. And yet, despite it all,
No other man can kindle my desire.
© 2000 Alice Park