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.