I’m done with the male species, or maybe
It’s away from all people I wish to flee:
The first ever spinster sixteen years old,
In the future my story will be told
I’ll be a hermit in a cave somewhere,
With a small sign to say: strangers beware!
Alone with my thoughts to write out all day,
And read books until I’m all old and grey.
Happy little hermit, that’s what I’ll be,
Of the problems of people I’ll be free;
No need for makeup, no one to impress,
I can even bare my hairy legs, yes!
I’ll die alone an old sagging soul,
Smiling as death swallows my body whole-
Because I lived a content cave dweller,
They’ll write my tale into a bestseller.
(just to clarify, this is a jokey poem. I don’t actually want to become a hermit, though sometimes the idea is tempting!)