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A poem in Balassi form (bbaccadda, with syllable counts 6/6/7/6/6/7/6/6/7) We met on a blind date. She was half an hour late, but I was even later. We had not much to say. Her eyes oft went astray. I think she liked the waiter. But I remained polite, and did my best that night not to aggravate her. The evening was too long. The chemistry, all wrong. We both welcomed our parting. But days after we dined, she wouldn’t leave my mind. I felt a passion starting. I broke down and called her, which I think appalled her. Her coldness left me smarting.