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Ballade At Thirty-Five

This, no song of ingenue

This, no ballad of innocence

This, the rhyme of a lady who

Followed ever her natural bentsThis, a solo of sapience

This, a chantey of sophistry

This, the sum of experiments

I loved them 'til they loved meI loved them 'til they loved me

I loved them 'til they loved meDecked in garments of sable hue

Daubed with ashes of myriad Lents

Wearing shower bouquets of rue

Walk I ever in penitenceOft I roam, as my heart repents

Through God's acres of memory

Marking stones in my reverence

I loved them 'til they loved meI loved them 'til they loved me

I loved them 'til they loved mePictures pass me in long review

Marching columns of dead events

I was tender and often true

Ever a prey to coincidenceAlways knew I the consequence

Always saw what the end would be

We're as nature has made us hence

I loved them 'til they loved meI loved them 'til they loved me

I loved them 'til they loved mePrinces, never I'd give offense

Won't you think of me tenderly?

You're my strength and my weakness, gentsThis, no song of ingenue

This, no ballad of innocence

This, the rhyme of a lady who

Songwriters

CARLA BRUNIPublished by

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