Here's a poem I wrote in October 1972, when aged 20. (I was a very young and immature 20, by the way. Not much change there!)
Did she copy Daddy's fearless
Warm embrace in search of nearness?
Did she smile with princess grace
At each beau's coarse schoolboy face?
Was she ever not entranced,
Enraptured in her pearly pants,
If once they spoke of gay Romance?
In her mind of fourteen years
There were never twinkling tears:
In happiness she swooned so sad,
Content to wait for Galahad.
While breasty, leggy girls entwined,
She, flat-chested, didn't mind;
But dreamt all day of Chivalry,
Away from lipstick rivalry.
Far away inside her head -
Too far from what the teacher said.
Dumb Delilah was her name
To all her Allan Quatermains.
And at night she dropped her glasses,
Shed her clothes, made mystic passes,
Nakedly, for Him alone:
Her Paladin, her lover lone.
Clasping to her virgin body
The dullard of the class, young Roddy,
Who, like her, sat silently
And yearned for tender mysteries.
Don't ask me whether I'm the teenage girl in the poem - I don't know. And I went to a single-sex school, by the way. But I was certainly a classroom dreamer!