You may think my name holds whimsy
And that it truly does
Part of my real name contained flimsily
Albeit curtly
Hint at my name there-of
I'm of an age, not yet come into my own
Ripe, yet many years of youth to be known
Awaiting much beauty, expectedly shown
I walk my road humble, and meek
Many years by, bearing sore feet
Of you, a lovers hand is what I seek
What I hope to find, should we ever meet
A love both of a dream, and real
Alongside you I would hope to feel
I ask of you to look upon me
Be it with a gauging eye
But if no recognition you see
Then I say, O'lay, look away
My star-crossed love to show a different day
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