<b>Romance</b>
Like the pale damsel from the fairy tale,
Who woke to bruises on the twentieth mattress
From a mere pea, her skin is deathly frail;
So too her twilight hopes. A genuine princess,
She spends the day half-sleeping in her tower,
And nightly scans for knightly rescuers.
Her dreams are creatures of the midnight hour,
And die before she knows to make them hers.
I am no hero riding from the East
To rescue her. I saw her plight and offered
A hand that she has clasped and not released;
For shame, I hide a right hand that is proffered
To one who is oblivious to the pea,
If not for any dearth of love for me.