A poem describing regret at failing to keep a New Year resolution
Through being short, each woman that I meet
Presents me with a disconcerting test,
For as we near each other in the street,
My eyes are duly drawn towards her chest.
My New Year’s resolution was designed
To prove that I was not enslaved to lust
And that, by looking up, or down, I’d find
A way to halt this focus on the bust.
I tried, but looking down brought no delight
And looking up was even worse because
To be aware of every woman’s height
Reminded me of just how short I was.
My failure to succeed through being small
Will come to shorter men as no surprise.
It simply means that we who are not tall
Must be content with all that greets our eyes.
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