To you, the soul for whom this ode is penned,

I like you not too near, and not too far,

You are no stranger, yet you're not a friend,

I hope you stay exactly where you are.

You're honest (well, unless I'm that naive),

You seem to be polite, and kind, and smart,

But well I know appearances deceive,

So best to keep you held a ways apart.

I've never noticed one obnoxious trait,

And yet, I fear I've never looked too close,

To know you well would surely end in hate,

I'll only stand you in a tiny dose.

So, though my cold veneer may seem unjust,

I've no disdain. I simply lack the trust.