By Tyler J. Yoder
How could you possibly love me,
You slight young slip of a boy?
You don’t even know me from Adam;
I’m aging, and comfortably coy –
And yet, I enjoy the attention
(I never was Helen of Troy).
If you’re toying with me for the money,
Good luck, boy – it’s already spent –
Or maybe you think I’ve got talent
(And I may, to a certain extent) –
Whatever the insane attraction,
I doubt that I’ll dare to relent.
I suppose I’ll submit to seduction;
I admit I’ll allow your allure.
Don’t think you can rest on your laurels –
I’ll always remain insecure.
How could you possibly love me?
You might, but it’s still premature.
©2014 by Tyler J. Yoder. All rights reserved
