In Austria, where I was raised,
A girl like me was highly praised
For entertaining folks at court with song.
But ever since I've been in France,
I barely get a second glance.
Is what I’ve done so really all that wrong?

The rumors fly; they say of me
That I spend far too lavishly
And I should go back home where I belong.
If you were tied to Louis, you
Would know why I do what I do.
Is what I’ve done so really all that wrong?

And so if I say "Fiddlesticks!"
To those who scorn my politics,
I add, "Just wait and let me sound the gong."
But people keep on splitting hairs,
Accusing me of cheap affairs.
Is what I’ve done so really all that wrong?

What is there to hide
Besides my wounded pride?
How COULD they be so mean
To send me TO the guillotine?

I hear that people didn’t take
It well when told to eat some cake
Instead of bread; that didn’t please the throng.
A few faux pas and folks see red
And smear your name and want your head!
Is what I’ve done so really all that wrong?

-by Bob B (9-17-22)