A Problem For Yourself

Fickle Lady Luck has turned on me and run.

A game well composed, well played upon

But despite all my foresight, my tale's undone

And whatever love you had for me is gone

You’ve taken the news quite poorly, as expected

But this is hurting me much more than you

Dear Father, you view my thoughts reflected

You hold my private journal there askew

Yes, it’s true, I have a lady-love

Even though I am a lovely lady myself

And I have nothing to be ashamed of

Your own hate is a problem for yourself