The other day, I thought while tromping back
Upon my ever single, fixed state;
About my plight, left always to attract
And never be attracted—what a fate.
I counted on my fingers, then my toes,
The men who’ve loved me, men I never could
Reciprocate, could not requite, or grow
The feeling: love—although I felt I should.
And there before me, looming in my eyes,
I saw the future life I’d have to live.
Resigned myself to spinsters’ knitting sighs
And isolated rocking—to forgive
The men who failed me, the passion to remit.
I guess that means I’ll need to learn to knit.