The Questions of Woo

I think, I could possibly, might actually,
want to woo you, my dear,
But then that just leads me down a path
littered with questions of most
astonishing import, for they fill me with
the greatest of fear.
Questions such as, how do you, my dear,
want to be wooed?
With candy and flowers?
With words of Shakespeare's
sweet nothings?
With fine wines and finer
dinners?
And of your son, mightent I need to woo
him as well?
With fine, hand-crafted toys?
With small handfuls of coins?
With promises of travel to lands
far, and away?
And then there is the biggest question of
all, are you wooable
Or have you already been
wooed?
Or would you rather not be
wooed?
Or are you possibly, quite
honestly, ready to be wooed?
Ah, such questions, lead to only more
questions; how do I ask them of you?
If I were to ask, would you prefer
the straight forward approach?
If I were to ask, would you leave
a symbol of wooableness upon
your door?
If I were to ask, would you allow
me the right to woo?
I am, but a fool,
Scared of the being that is you,
Scared that you might reject me,
Scared that you might hurt me.
Yes, just a scared fool,
Is that not a cowardly thing for a
"brave" man?
Is that not a weak thing for a
"tough" man?
Is that not a silly thing for a
"smart" man?
Yes my dear, I do so much wish to woo
you, my heart, mind and soul are ready,
But the questions that stand in my way
are my invincible foe,
And so, my dear,
My sweet,
Darling dear,
You will never know of my wish to woo.