She Thinks I’m Old

Some what amusing
A semblance of style
Certainly better than many a letter I've read in a while
But what makes me chuckle
Lo and behold
She thinks I'm old
And crusty too perhaps and cold
She thinks I'm old
A misconceit has taken hold
Good punctuation
The humor is quaint
And reading her prose I suppose is more fun
Than say watching the drying of paint
But it's sort of funny
In its own sort of way
She thinks I'm gray
Why she thinks so, I can't say
She thinks I'm gray
And no doubt withering away
But I made it clear my obligation
Does not include communication
A girl could lead to aggravation
Boys never question their patron's appearance
They'd never consider such gross interference
Boys are less trouble in my estimation
My appearance should mean as little to her as her's to me
Is she fair or dark?
Fat or thin?
Short or tall?
I have no idea and no wish to know
What does it matter?
She has a brain, that's what matters
A brain, and a wit, and a fearless turn of phrase
This girl deserves her chance
A good education is all that she'll need
Then she'll go onto write a triumphant first novel
The great literati will read
She'll be the creme de la creme
The talk of the town
A prominent author of world renown
While I look on from the side
Glowing with pride
Knowing how it all began
Content to remain in the shadows
A girl-hating, gray, old man