To An Ingenue

Whether he speaks or whether he drools,
The open mouth makes the mark of the fool.
I may spit bitter words that I shouldn't have said.
Sometimes beautiful words come off creepy instead.

So, fool that I may be, I'll stop guilding the truth.
Though many would envy the both of us our youth,
Your slim number of years makes my own look bloated.
I say envy is the judgement of fools, but I'm outvoted,

and the truth is that others than fools may judge.
A perfectly reasonable father might begrudge
You to me.  This courtship of you is indeed a fool's race.
I should spare you my words, and drop out to save face.