of her scrambled heart and her whacko mind,
and her tendency, always, to fall behind.
She still felt his judgement was less than fair.
And the middle-aged princess in days of yore
loved a knight who cared SOME, but she cared for him more.
of conflicting dreams and despair and distress.
It made her look stupid, it made her a bore,
coz he cared but a little, she cared – always more.
and drowned in enchantment for this knight so fine.
She’d relax at the wrong times, all warm and contented,
then awaken to "real" life, despairing, demented.
was grossy averse to the soft and the dippy.
was far from the coolness and calm that he sought.
He did not feast, but dine
He saw to it spirits were always diluted,
and water was served with the wine.
clad in a gauzy summer dress
Again and again his icy receptions
had her wrap up her glowing excess. (Damn him.)
or not – what the hell do I know?
Maybe just an idea of flame, then?
That burns so incredibly low.
who always waits by my door.
In these realms of hope and of horror
on another and more distant shore.
and I still care a whole lot more.