She Thinks I'm Old

Somewhat 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
Then say watching the drying of paint
But it's sort of funny
In its own sort of way
She thinks I'm grey
Why she thinks so I can't say
She thinks I'm grey
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 hers to me
Is she fair or dark?
Fat or thin?
Short or tall?
I've 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 on to write
A triumphant first novel
The great Liberaty will read
She'll be the crème de le crème
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 grey old man