A siren told me once one day
That men will come with just a flick
Being quite new at the games we play
I asked an example of this magic

She snapped her fingers and in a blink
A carriage and driver atop appeared
"Shoo!" she said with a giggle and wink
And the driver left, eyes all teared

"Men are toys just like that one...
They come when you beckon them here."
I gaped in awe at her frivolous fun
My efforts always halted in fear

"Now you try!" she urged me on
I shook my head, declining
"Suit yourself," she said with a yawn
And she left to go rest, resigning

I stagger still at the skills we hold
A typical siren I am not
I am not brazen or forward or bold
I don't think I'm desired or "hot"

I prefer a book over a man, you see
I like my trousers, not dresses
I would like a man to like me for me
And not for my make up or tresses

I'll remember the driver and his funny face
And my siren friend's effortless success
I'll wait for a man who can make my heart race
Who's more of a person rather than mindless


Penned by my hand on the 16th of Lupar, in the year 386 AF.