Blonde-haired, blue-eyed, with skin of purest white,
Angel with personality to match,
But though I set her firmly in my sight
She was too good for me, too fine a catch.
So she and all the others passed me by,
I tried but I could never understand,
Eventually I ceased to ponder why -
There is no reason, is no hidden hand.
I looked around, within my reach were hags
And sylphs so vile I shivered at their touch,
But desperate young men will go with slags,
And I in turn would grit my teeth and clutch.
But long time Iíve learned being on the shelf
Is not so bad, I sleep well with myself.
When I was sixteen, I thought getting laid
Was the be all and end all - how absurd!
As I grew older, I grew more afraid
Of loneliness and all that it inferred,
But desperation passes like a fad
For that is all it was, and is no more,
I realised that in time, and now Iím glad
Since twenty-one I havenít fucked a whore.
It bothers me much less than other guys
Who find themselves like I thought I was, lost,
I tell them chasing women is unwise;
Before you take the plunge, think of the cost.
Better no love than bad love, so disown
The heartbreakers and whores, best sleep alone.
If loveís worthwhile, then itís worth waiting for,
Pragmatism and compromise are out,
If thereís but one thing of which I am sure
Then that is it, Iíve no reasonable doubt.
Desiderata fill an empty life,
But manís necessities are few indeed,
Rather a blissful bed than nagging wife,
Rather hunger than satiated greed.
My Love, if she comes, will be Love Divine,
Until that day, Iíll worship from afar,
But manís days are too short to build a shrine
To unfulfilled dreams, so reach for that star!
Better no love than bad love to have known,
I shed no tears that I must sleep alone.
[I wrote the above in 1992, if not earlier; in view of recent events in my personal life, it seems sadly appropriate to publish it now.]
November 7, 2008
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