Ballade At Thirty-Five

This no song of ingenue This no ballad of innocence This the rhyme of a lady who Followed ever the natural bents This a Solo of sapience This a chantey of sophistry This the sum of experiments I loved them until they loved me I loved them until they loved me I loved them until they loved me              Decked in garments of sable hue Daubed with ashes of myriad Lents Wearing shower bouquets of rue Walk I ever in penitence Oft I roam as my heart repents Through God's acre of memory Marking stones in my reverence I loved them until they loved me I loved them until they loved me I loved them until they loved me              Pictures pass me in long review - Marching columns of dead events I was tender and often true Ever a prey to coincidence Always knew I the consequence Always saw what the end would be We're as Nature has made us -- hence I loved them until they loved me I loved them until they loved me I loved them until they loved me              Princes never I'd give offense Won't you think of me tenderly Here's my strength and my weakness gents This no song of ingenue This no ballad of innocence This the rhyme of a lady who