All the wrath I carefully grew,
every irate word that I honed;
over hours of fretting and fuming,
anticipating sweet revenge...
blow up in a puff of empty fumes,
at that astute little taunt of yours;
I end up admiring your witty tongue,
laugh at myself; refuse to be stung!
oh, how I hate myself for this...
I wish I had no taste for humor;
it makes me lose my armor of honor!
