When I was in school, I never had the guts to ask the pretty girls to dance. Stole the title from a song by the band Queen. 

Only last week, I walked these hushed halls, 
To gather my lines and settle my heart, 
For sitting alone, beyond love’s brick wall, 
Was an unwritten play, in which I was cast a part. 
As slender as a stroke from Keats’ quill, 
As fair as morning’s faint scarlet, 
In her beauty I felt a spineless chill, 
That sent me scrambling from my Valentine starlet. 
A poet in distress, I scuffed the dusty floor, 
Searching for the right role to choose: 
To hang my head and retreat to’ard the door, 
Or go forth and pray the Lord sees me through. 
With Brahms about, the scale teetered to ‘n’ fro 
(My heart ‘gainst a tongue which would not speak), 
See ‘twas not her arrow I feared, but Cupid’s bow, 
Since I just might acquire what I seek! 
Alas then, in Blake and Byron my decision was had: 
A foolish soul, Rome’s ancient Christian martyr, 
For a romantic is never so happy as when he is sad, 
So I slipped away, heroically ever after.