A girl, I sat and steeped myself in story,
Of Princesses and true love, won through glory.
And I believed and fell for that false tale,
That mirage of the dashing, perfect male.
I entered the arena like a child,
As weak as gentle Jesus, meek and mild.
And I was preyed on, picked off and spat out,
Used and abused and damaged, in and out.
Today I mark my first and fortieth year,
With you, my husband, lover without peer
I would not trade you for a Prince or Lord,
No wealth would tempt me: You are my life’s reward.
