She wants to be loved.

Who can blame her?

The pleasure it brings and the serenity of pleasant company.

So quick to love,

Be loved.

She picks fools thinking them princes.

Bemoaning choice after choice,

She places the blame constantly on them,

Never quite seeing or acknowledging her role.

Precious girl, always in a rush.

She sees no benefit in taking her time and discerning their character.

She entrusts her tenderheart to clowns who play tricks.

And illusionists who promise pleasure but deliver lies.