I thought when first I held in store
A silent, guarded bit of me
That at last conquered your will,
I was a child in fear of men.
You, who vows like medals wore,
To whom committal came so free,
Were a woman — while I was still
A boy in games I should have ended.
Or so it seemed. Now it seems no more
Than endless promises and pleas,
An open contract never filled,
A life I cannot quite begin.
If so, I guess a boy I’ll be.
I’d like to give instead of lend;
But each time that I think it’s time,
Someone else comes by to borrow.
So I’ve ne’re belonged to none but me,
Doubtful that I might ever mend.
I keep a store of me as mine,
For who knows who might come tomorrow?
© 1978, R.S. Adamcik