If you told me I was good at poems,

Of this man you speak of I'd say I didn't know 'em.

I'd say I can't be good at any of this!

For I only do it for some, likely, unobtainable bliss.

It's just for some teenage infatuation.

Yet with her my Soul feels such elation.

But, I've only given her a poem or two.

And I've only written a few; I swear it's true!

I thought girls loved you if you gave them all you got.

But that is just in fairy tales, maybe I should have just been like Lancelot.

So no surprise, my attempts were crushed.

My spirits broken and scattered like a host, in an instant all it's voices hushed.

For her I cannot give up yet!

The Fate of failure is not now and forever set.

I simply must hold my love, be patient, and kind.

Be here waiting and trying for that girl with the smartest mind.

Her with the kindness that only to Christ is it equal.

Maybe my luck in this will change in the sequel.

I'll just have to wait and see, for who knows but God what's in store.

That's the last you'll here from me, your modern Troubadour!