Satire

How does one, beautiful as you,
With crisp gold curls, and eyes ice blue,
Hold such a heart, blessed at birth
To match those rotting in the earth.
I don’t mean to sneer, or come across cold,
Your popularity is something to behold,
Considering of course, that you care not,
For who may fill your social slot,
Or so to say, and to no end,
You could not name a single friend.
Witty girl who lives to criticize,
Tell me now, who you despise,
Or rather, since my mind does wonder,
Tell me now, of whom you’re fonder,
Since that will waste less of my life,
Then to listen to your pathetic strife,
That you have nurtured every day,
Just to have something droll to say.
Oh how intelligent you must be,
That you must get your laughs from me,
And if rise to your pretty face,
Please put me back down in my place,
For I wish not to insult the dream,
Of the peasant who thinks herself a Queen,
Oh my, does thunder curse your brow?
To the reason I give you now
I would never guess that feelings start,
Within that stone you call a heart,
Forgive me, for my tongue speaks lies
Judged by fury in your eyes,
It’s not my place to bid ill or well,
I’ll leave that to when you burn in hell.