They wrote me love poetry

And called it serenading,

Whilst all the while I was

Cringing inside and wondering

How it had come to this.

I never called a suitor

To come round a second time,

So they all knew what to expect

But still called me divine?

A goddess of what, then?

I know I tested patience

And battled out wild wars in

The name of love and chastity

But I was waiting for someone, anyone

To touch more than just mere heart.

But stars burn out

Dousing wishes, long forgotten,

In ashes and cinder and loss.